The gift of life
by MMBC
Summary: '...Can you play me a memory; I'm not really sure how it goes; but it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete...' Piano Man by Billy Joel
1. Chapter 1: Once upon an afternoon

One day it suddenly occurred to me that I want to write a proper story in an 18th centry setting, without the warps in reality; as in, real life 18th century with all the implications of homosexuality and class discriminations, so here it is. Warning: this story might contain religious implications, and these do not necessarily reflect my view. Other than that, I hope you enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Saint Seiya or The Lost Canvas.

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**Chapter 1: Once upon an afternoon**

Walking briskly on the sunlit pavement and weaving through the flow of people, Dégel Leblanc looked at his watch. He was three minutes late. But then again, it should not matter; he was not supposed to be in a hurry anyway. And yet his feet hurried themselves, and his mind did not even bother to question his own motive. The doorbell chimed merrily as he gave it a light push and poked his head in, nodding to the owner. The old man smiled, nodded back, and bent down to pick up a freshly made cup of coffee.

At the corner of the small road, there was a little café with white washed walls and baskets of flowers hanging from the windows. As the sun poured its sweet honey across the lane, the brilliant rays gleamed off the glossy fall of teal hair. A young man with glasses obscuring his eyes sat with his legs crossed at one of the white iron tables outside the shop, a book in one hand and a slightly smoking cup of coffee in the other. Across the road, there was a flower stand, and as the the wind playfully glided by, spots of sunlight danced over the colourful shop. The quiet corner lit up the colour of rainbows in another peaceful afternoon.

The young man sipped his coffee, a discrete smile blooming on his pale lips. His countenance blended into the golden light, while his dark hair stood out against the fold of the white chair as it draped over the back in a curtain of dark stresses.

'Would you mind if I sit here?'

The young man looked up, and his smile widened just that tiny bit fraction so that it became barely perceptible. He inclined his head, 'Please do.'

As the breeze lifted a strand of midnight coloured hair, Dégel fancied he saw an equally gentle smile appearing on a tan countenance, before the other man sat down on the chair opposite his. The owner, too used to the routine, brought out another cup of coffee with a small smile of his own.

'Good day, Kardia.'

The man nodded his thanks and reclined back in his own chair, hands behind his head and eyes on the far heaven. As he closed his impossibly blue eyes, the man hummed to himself a tune so old no one knew what it was anymore, and it was slow and it was sweet. Golden rays gilt his closed eyelids silver, and his smile became that much more radiant. And in the quiet of a sunny afternoon, the world narrowed down to just the café and the white table where they were sitting in silence. Time stopped, just as it had stopped every single day before that day, when a man with glasses would turn up at the café at exactly two in the afternoon, and was joined by the man from the flower stand opposite five minutes after that. For all fifteen minutes, they would stay like that, without a move for conversation, but had only their coffees and themselves to enjoy. And then the man from the flower stand would return to his work, and five minutes later the other, too, would leave with a spring in his steps and a slight curve of his mouth.

'"De l'esprit des lois". Is that not too heavy a subject for such a lovely afternoon?'

Dégel started. Suddenly, the hand on his watch started moving again. His heart paused, then resumed beating at twice its usual speed as his mind blanked.

They had started a conversation. After so long of sitting silently, for fifteen minutes every day, they had started their first conversation today, never mind the fact that every day he himself had turned up without fail and the other man had asked to sit at his table while all the others were still perfectly empty. It had always been 'would you mind if I sit here' between them, and 'good day' when they parted, always always.

'It is… not complicated.' He replied, still staring at the other rather blankly. This was the first time he had taken a direct look at the other, too, even though he was sure he had chanced enough secret glances through the fall of his bangs to last this life and the next. With sparkling blue eyes, strong eyebrows, a sculpted nose, defined lips and cheekbones that spelt Greek, the man was a picture of ancient masculinity and beauty. His dark curls fell in a curtain that framed his face, accentuating perfect jaw lines and the moving cords of his neck as he spoke. Even though he was dressed only in a simple shirt and waistcoat, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a pair of somewhat faded trousers, there was nothing that could hide the sheer glow that seemed to emanate from him, even if all he did was look back at Dégel with amused eyes and an arched eyebrow.

'Are you by any chance a professor?'

'No, but I have obtained a doctorate…'

The other man chuckled. 'That would explain that.'

'I beg your pardon?' Dégel blinked. He noticed that the man had a pleasantly warm voice, and even in jest he never sounded anymore than good-natured. He laughed that vibrating chuckle again, his eyes crinkled in mirth.

'You cannot expect to say what you said and have me think anything else, my good sir. Most people would regard such a read too imposing for this fine day, I can assure you.'

Dégel did not know where this was going, but he liked it and so would play along. Joy flooded his heart as he realised that perhaps, just perhaps, today's coffee would take a little longer than fifteen minutes. As he basked in the warmth of the other's voice, his own smile widened without his meaning to, but that was fine because he was having a decent conversation with this man at last, and what was there to complain about when time started ticking again for the both of them?

'And yet you have kept yourself updated with political-philosophical developments in France, too, I gather.'

'Who? Moi?' The man's eyes widened almost comically as a twinkle of mischief flashed up in them. 'You overestimated me, dear sir. It is my… _keeper_ who could not stop talking about it. He is a follower of the Enlightenment despite his old age, you see.'

'Your… _keeper_?' Dégel could not help but feel hilarious himself, the way the man's nose crinkled slightly at the mention of the word, and the way a corner of his mouth pulled up higher than the other in a lopsided grin. He looked almost proud, but then again Dégel had never been very good at people, so he contended himself with observing every changes in the lively countenance of his companion, feeling very much alive in a very long time.

'Yes, my keeper. Like Cain and the story of his brother's keeper. The way he scolded me for staying up too late, you would have thought he was my keeper too were you to see it.'

At that Dégel had to chuckle. The sound came out foreign to his ears, for how long ago did he last have a good laugh? A sudden wave of courage came to his mind, and looking the other man straight in the eye, he held out his hand: 'Pray forgive my lack of manner. I am Dégel Leblanc.'

The hand that grasped his was big and warm, very much calloused but gentle all the same, and so very heated. The grip was tight and lingered for a fraction too long, but before he could give himself any more strange idea, Dégel had pulled his hand back. The warmth lingered on his skin like smoldering ember, and as he put his hand back onto his lap and out of side, his fingers curled in on themselves. That way, the warmth would stay for a tad bit longer.

'A very becoming name, if I may say so. I am Kardia Kokkinos, but everyone calls me Kardia, and so should you.'

He had a strange name, Dégel decided, but he liked it nonetheless. Red Heart. Somehow it seemed true, for he could practically feel the passion in the man bubbling under the surface, just waiting to be released in the form of whatever it was that he did. The way his smile lit up brighter than sunlight, the way his laugh blew away all of Dégel's worries, and the way he looked up so longingly at the sky, it all made sense because Dégel was feeling himself being pulled into this whirlwind of childlike joy and excitement. He tried to resist this pull, but every time he thought he succeeded, a knowing twinkle lit up in Kardia's impossibly blue eyes or the wind would ruffled his mane of hair playfully, so that Dégel could not but be willingly snared in again. It should have been a peaceful afternoon with the soothing quiet he had come to love after so long, but instead it turned out to be one where he was overcome with more emotions than he had ever felt in his life, none of which was unpleasant or unwanted. Dégel tried not to think about the implications of that, yet he could not but wonder, even if for a fleeting moment, why this man in front of him could procure so much unknown emotions in his heart while all he did was sit there and let the sun place a crown of halo on his beautiful head and let the breeze play his hair as it would a lyre. Irritated with himself all of a sudden, Dégel pushed the traitorous thoughts to the far back of his mind, where he would pay them a visit later, when he had safely come back to the secluded space of his study.

'Thank you, Kardia.' The name rolled off his tongue so naturally that he thought that yes, maybe he could get used to this, too, though everything was so new to him. 'Though I could not but wonder why you said that; I am not blond, you see.'

'No, but you are fair. White Ice, but I like Snow White better. That way it would fit.' The smile Kardia gave him was strange, and he thought he could see something else there, too, yet a blink of an eye later it was gone as though it was but an imagination Dégel's mind had conjured up to mock him. Before he could ask what he meant or to clarify that he could not very well have 'neige' for a name now could he, Kardia had cleverly changed the topic, and Dégel had let it slide, too afraid to continue that train of thought.

'You said you have obtained a doctorate. May I ask what subject it was?'

'I studied linguistics, particularly ancient languages, but I am also interested in philosophy, so I am considering going a little deeper into it.'

Kardia smiled again. 'Philosophy of religion?'

'Perhaps; I am a Catholic after all.'

There was a twitch to his lips, and even as his lopsided smile became a full smirk, his eyebrows drew together so that his expression became almost sad, and half bitter. It twisted something within Dégel's own heart, though at the time he could not understand it for what it really was.

'Indeed. Aren't we all.' A heartbeat later, he had lifted the cup to his lips in order to cover his expression. 'Yet I would have thought there are other branches of philosophy, though I know not what they are.'

'There are, and you don't have to be a Christian to study theology and the like; it is just my personal interest.'

'So I see.'

Dégel could not be sure, but he thought there must have been an almost imperceptible quiver in Kardia's voice as he concluded their conversation on the topic. That, too, at the time he could not understand, intelligent as he was, yet it hurt him all the same to see this man so full of life and joy suddenly sound so defeated. A clump of white cloud went past the sun, and in the brief moment that the shadow was cast on them, Dégel had felt like reaching out, though he knew not what he would have done had he succumbed to this urge. Yet as quickly as it came, the shadow passed, and with it all traces of previous negative emotions on Kardia's face.

'Kardia, there is a delivery to make! Can you come back?' A young girl called from the flower stand opposite. Dégel took out his watch and looked. The minute hand just struck four, as it was supposed to do. He looked up blankly at the other man, who at the same time was watching him with an intense gaze that nearly made him blush. Slowly, he stood up, and for the first time, Dégel thought he saw hesitation in the other's smile.

'I shall see you here tomorrow, yes?'

Dégel's heart leapt. Along with the conversation, this was the first time they ever talked of meeting again, though for the past he had come and sat there every afternoon like clockwork and the other, too, would come and sit with him without fail. It had become a mutual thing much like a promise, but never quite, yet to put it into words made it seem unreal, because surely life could not get better than that? An unreasonable hope seized him, and Dégel smiled just that bit brighter, completely unaware of how the other's man breath hitched as a particularly light ray of sun hit his countenance in a golden glow.

'Tomorrow, at two, I shall come.'

At that, Kardia's laugh had sounded like relief.

Five minutes later, Dégel stood up, paid for his coffee, and went back the way he had come. Suddenly he flushed so red he might as well have had a fever. Dégel clasped a hand on his mouth and felt his lips curved into another smile he could not contain however hard he tried. Tomorrow, at two, and if the Lord allowed him, the day after, and the day after that. Ideas flew past his mind, all jumbled up and all too bright. He barely restrained himself from starting to run from the elation coursing through his body, even as he kept blushing without knowing why. With the shadow at the back of his mind temporarily lifted, Dégel looked up at the sky. Too blue, too perfect. If this was what time starting to run felt like, then he was willing to take the risk, if only his afternoons would continue on with that small white washed café in that small corner of that unknown lane.

Tomorrow, at two, he shall come, as he had done, as he would do.


	2. Chapter 2: Necessity

Author's note: Second chapter! Thank you all who have spent time to read and special thanks to those who have taken the time to review; they really are a huge motivation for me to continue. I took the liberty to use a phrase that is the name of a story by mytyl-sensei at the end of this chapter. Mytyl-sensei, if you're out there reading this, I hope you are not offended; if you are, please tell me and I'll do something about it. Other than that, on with the show!

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**Chapter 2: Necessity**

'… And he scolded me for picking on someone new! Me! It was that rascal Manigoldo who started it first!'

'Kardia my friend, you _did_ hide all his clothes, though.'

'I wouldn't have done that had he not told me I looked girly in my long hair!'

Dégel could not help but burst out laughing as the tips of Kardia's ears coloured in anger and embarrassment. The indignant expression he wore was only too comical not to ignite a spark of amusement in him. As he scowled upon his laughing, Kardia turned away with a loud harrumph and crossed his arms. Dégel had to laugh some more at that childish but so very endearing gesture. His laughter then died down into a gentle smile as he gazed on tenderly at the other man, who was still angry at himself for losing his temper. After that first day of conversation, they had been on friendly terms. Dégel gradually discovered that underneath the stern and initial courteous mask the other wore, he had a youthful soul, far more so than his own, in fact. His original suspicion of the other's passion for everything he did was proven true, the way he talked so heatedly about a simple topic, the way his eyes lit up on a particularly bright day, the way he laughed with exuberance as the wind swept Dégel's overgrown bangs into his eyes. Life flowed from the man sitting opposite him, and Dégel could not but feel himself being drawn deeper into the depth that was Kardia as each day passed by, with only them sitting at that small white washed café on those peaceful afternoons.

'The statement may not have been made with malice.'

'And yet, my friend, it was a case of volenti non fit injuria. Is that not what you have told me yourself? It was he who chose to insult me; there was implied consent for a war!' Kardia looked back at him, his eyes narrowed, though a trace of mirth was starting to creep into those blue depths. A ray of light his head in a halo, and Dégel smiled again as he saw the good mood returning to the other.

'You have a most admirable memory, though I do recall having said that Manigoldo may not have meant anything offensive when he said what he said.'

'Ah, you are the gentleman. Why argue with me?' Frustrated, Kardia finally huffed out loud and threw Dégel a flat look, which made him laugh all the more.

'Dégel.' The warning was clear in the man's voice, yet at the same time an indescribable feeling bubbled up inside him, to hear his name rolling from that man's tongue with a warmth he had never experienced. It had started the day after their first conversation, when Kardia had attempted to call him M. Leblanc. Dégel had blushed and insisted that it was only his father to whom that name was used to address; he was only Dégel to Kardia. The man had smiled, looking pleased at that. The first time he had called him by name, there was a strange glow in Kardia's voice, a lightness that suddenly made him seem even younger than he was. No one had thus addressed him before, in that particular familiar manner; not his father, nor his mother figure and half sister Seraphina, nor his half brother Unity. It had left a pleasant feeling of belonging in his heart. This, too, Dégel could get used to, to hear his name from this man every day. Dégel almost blushed at the thought.

'My sincere apologies, Kardia.' He turned to the man again, offering a biscuit as a token of peace.

'Not sincere, my dear Dégel, you are very much amused at my expense.' Kardia pointed out, but still took the biscuit from him with a smile. Their fingers touched in the lightest of way, yet in that brief moment a thousand feelings rushed through Dégel in a flash, leaving him trembling. As he drew his hand back, he silently berated himself for letting his mind be affected by such trivialities. Nonetheless, at the same time, an immense sense of well-being overcame him, and it was as if he was floating in a sea of happiness.

'You have a faraway look on your face. May I know what it is you are thinking about?' Kardia's voice brought him back to where he was, and Dégel suddenly found himself speechless as he all he could think was how perfect his life was. Yet he could not very well say that; it would have sounded most queer to the other.

'Pray forgive my inattentiveness. It was nothing of importance.'

Kardia looked displeased, but he did not push the issue. Instead, he chose to silently eat his biscuit, letting an ocean of light wash over him and his companion in the few minutes they had left of their little private rendezvous.

Dégel imagined he could hear the second hand in his watch ticking. Three, two, one, and then he would have to leave. All of a sudden he found himself entertaining an inexplicable fear. Three days before he had received an invitation to give a series of lectures at the university of another town, and had been directed to go on behalf of his university. It was an important task, one which he could not refuse. He realised that in normal circumstances he would have been very happy to go, for what better way to reorganise his knowledge than to give a lecture on the topic; knowledge should have been everything to him then. Yet the only reason he was reluctant was that he would have to spend a week away from town, which meant a week without those pauses in time that he had come to treasure. Dégel was a creature of habits, and frequenting that little café had become an integral part of his life. He had always been uneasy to break from those well-engraved routines, but this time it was absolutely different, for this time what he was feeling was not mere hesitation or inconvenience, but a deep feeling of dread that should he choose to break from this particular habit, he may not be able to get it back again. It was an irrational fear, one such as he had never experienced before. Then it dawned on him that what he was most afraid of was not the departure itself, for he was going to do it come what may, but the realisation that he was feeling more than he had ever felt, and the emotions were so violent he could barely contain them. The implications of that he dared not contemplate, but there was only one idea that dominated his mind, that once he had tasted all those emotions so foreign to his being, he may not go back to those peaceful quiet afternoons not so long ago again. The unknown terrified him, but so did the ready inferences he could draw from self-reflection. And Dégel did not know what was worse for him.

He took out his watch and noticed the minute hand had struck four, as it always did then. And so he looked up, only to catch Kardia looking back at him, his eyes unreadable. The awkward silence lasted for a second, then abruptly shattered as Kardia stood up.

'Well, I had better go back then.'

More out of an instinct than anything, Dégel reached out, but could not quite bring himself to grasp the retreating hand. His hand hovered in the air, dangling uselessly.

'Please wait.' He called. Kardia turned to look at him, his eyebrow arched.

'I only want to tell you that from tomorrow on I will not be able to come…'

'What? Is it because of something I have done? Did I offend you in some way?'

Dégel smiled at the palpable panic in the other's voice. It was satisfying to know that he was not the only one with irrational fears; that way, he could put one more problem in his mind to rest.

'No Kardia, it has been most pleasant to spend my spare time here. It is only that I must travel to another town to give a series of lectures. I shall be back in a week.'

'Then after a week you shall come back here again?' There was an almost imperceptible quiver in the man's voice that caught Dégel by surprise. A mixed feeling filled his chest, leaving him breathless for a fraction of a second, before he swallowed and nodded, the warmth inside never leaving.

'I see.' It had sounded like a sigh of relief, yet lost somewhere within his voice, Kardia had sounded a little disappointed, too. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he regarded Dégel again with that same unfathomable look he used when looking at him sometimes. His eyes seemed to reflect a deep conflict going on within his mind, one that rendered him unable to decide on how to act. Dégel returned his gaze and soon found himself lost in the abyss of blue that was his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he was uncertain whether he would want to find his way out after that.

'Bon voyage, then. I shall be waiting when the week is over.' It was not easy to break the spell. Dégel gazed at the outstretched hand blankly, before grasping it with more enthusiasm than he should. Like the first time they shook, their hands lingered, Dégel reluctant to leave the warmth running up his arm straight to his chest cavity. The calluses on the other's hand pressed into Dégel's tender but cold skin, and he smiled at the contrast and how perfect it all had felt. All too soon, they released and Kardia granted him one last brilliant smile in the faded colour of the afternoon light before retreating to his shop. A sense of loss claimed him as he stared at the broad retreating back, wondering what the other was thinking regarding this break from their routine.

As light poured over the café, Dégel sat, pondering ideas that came and went so quickly he never really grasped them. He painted a most queer picture in his mind, one in which colours were dancing and everything blurred and cleared even as he was distracted by other thoughts. His perpetually clear mind was muddled with thoughts he had never before entertained, and the whole situation had left him shaken and wondering, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. But before long, he jolted. His head whipped up as he gawked at his surrounding with wild eyes, as if he had only woken from a disturbing dream. Looking down at his watch, Dégel allowed a deep frown to settle into the corner of his mouth. He stood up quickly and left.

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Dégel twisted and turned on his bed, unable to sleep. It had only been one day away from town and he was already feeling something wrong. It had felt like someone had carved out a piece of his mind and hid it away, and that hidden piece must have been peace, for he had been restless for that whole day despite all his best efforts to close himself off to emotions in order to concentrate on delivering the lectures. It had very nearly been torture, the feeling of something missing never leaving him. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, Dégel blamed himself for letting such trivialities interfere with his calm. He remembered back when his half sister Seraphina had passed away, he had been hurt so deeply it was virtually a scar on his young mind. She had been genteel and caring as the mother he never met, and the part of his childhood with her in it could only be described at sweet and joyful. Then death came, swiftly and silently. Dégel was too young at the time to comprehend much, yet the sight of her eyes closing for the last time impressed itself onto his immature soul as a burn from scalding iron. From that day on, he had learnt to distance himself from unnecessary emotions in order never to be hurt again, because when Dégel hurt, he did more than anyone else was capable of feeling; his sensitivity was astonishing even to himself sometimes. Life became as if it was a nightmare from which he could never wake up, for the empty feeling within his chest cavity ached with a tenacity that lasted for several years. Even then it never stopped hurting, but the ache became dull, like a physical defect that could not be removed. It was thus that Dégel taught himself how to become unfeeling and concentrate on reason alone, for reason could never hurt. Then he recalled that first day he had met Kardia and how everything sudden became foreign. It was a pure coincidence, that he had something to do on that day near the spot he had come to call his haven. As he stopped at that crossroad, he had caught sight of the man selling flowers in the small shop. Even amongst such radiant beauty, the man stood out in his masculinity. Life seemed to emit from him in a blinding aura, and the way he laughed had resembled so much euphoria that something inside Dégel twisted pleasantly. Dégel could not remember how long he had stood there staring, but when he suddenly reminded himself that he was probably being impolite, there was already a pair of impossibly blue eyes on him. Dégel had abruptly averted his eyes, his face burning and suddenly he found simply breathing became so very difficult. In that moment, it was as if everything had stopped moving, and everything he had ever known vanished. In his rush to get away from that spot, Dégel had almost tripped over his own feet twice, something he had stopped doing when he was two years old. When he got home, his face was still so red that the servants all asked if he was feeling unwell. The image of that strange man burnt itself into his retinas, so that that night, as he lay awake, much like he was lying awake right then, he needed only to close his eyes and the whole picture would reappear, as clear as if he was still standing there in the middle of a bright afternoon. The scene replayed in his mind over and over, reminding him of something warm that he could never remember. It had developed into an irresistible pull on him the next day, as he traced his steps to that quiet corner most people had missed. At two in the afternoon, he was standing in front of the café opposite the flower stand, too afraid to come nearer. A strange compulsion gripped him then, and Dégel, without hesitation, ordered for himself a coffee as he sat down at a terrace table and simply watched. There had been no contemplation of what he was doing then, for it was indeed the first time in a long while Dégel allowed himself to follow his instincts. It had been a beautiful day; the sun was sweet and the spot where he sat bathed in honeyed light. Dégel drew in a deep breath and imagined he could smell the fragrance of the many flowers he was surrounded by. The gentle scent was soothing enough that soon he started to find his shoulders relaxing as he sank deeper in his chair. It was then that Dégel saw the man approaching him. His heart had leapt to his throat and remained there even as the man ordered for himself a coffee. That was when it all started.

Dégel turned to pull the blanket more closely around himself. His trance had left him in a dream-like state, where he remained conscious yet incapable of controlling where his mind wandered, and the realisation of what he had been dreaming about left him suddenly cold. He reached up to his watch on the nightstand, flipped the case open and looked. It was only two in the morning. Dégel heaved a sigh and wondered why he never noticed the volatility of time till then.

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It was two in the afternoon and Dégel was in the middle of delivering the last of his lecturers. As light flooded in through the high windows of the lecture hall, he wondered why it looked somehow faded. There was no warmth to the sunlight that he could feel, even though he had to squint his eyes from the rays' brightness. He looked out at the window; the sky was an infinite blue canvas that was beckoning him. The azure colour reminded him of another shade of blue, much darker, yet similarly endless. He thought about the whiteness of walls that actually reflected a rainbow of colours from the hanging baskets full of flowers and how they seemed to radiate a familiarity much like home, though his house was nothing like that. Even if he did not know it, the initial longing had developed into a deep ache in his chest every time he looked at the sky. It looked like wind from the north that day; the weather was getting cooler by the day and even Dégel himself had taken a light coat with him, fond of the cold as he was. The sight of rolled up sleeves flashed through his mind and Dégel suddenly remembered a particularly handsome scarf he had seen in the market nearby. That would have made a splendid present. Kardia should have worn a coat; he seemed not to care much about his own health. He remembered last spring, when the air was still quite chilly, the other man had already come out in only his customary shirt and waistcoat. He was shivering slightly, Dégel had noted, yet at that time they had not been in a position where they talked about each other's well-being and health, and so they had left it at that. Yes, the scarf would have been a most suitable gift, indeed. Dégel smiled as he imagined the other man wearing the wine coloured scarf, his dark curls twining around the fabric in layers as the colour contrast accentuated his smile.

'Uh, sir?' A voice from the general audience startled Dégel out of his reverie. He did not notice he had been trailing off in the middle of a sentence as he gazed out at the window, and act most uncharacteristic of him to do. Coughing and suddenly feeling his cheeks heating in embarrassment, he returned to the black board, all the while thousands of thoughts berating himself rushed through his mind.

'My apologies. Let us pick up where I have left off.'

The last night was going to be longer than all eternity, Dégel knew and that he could not do a thing about it.

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As Dégel hurried out of the carriage, he was surprised when the household's butler came out to greet him, his face white as a sheet.

'Young master Dégel, welcome back.'

'Good day. Is there something wrong? You look very pale.'

As if he had been waiting for the question, the old man replied with haste: 'I am well, thank you very much. However, the young master Unity is ill.'

'What? What happened? Where is he?' Dégel asked quickly, feeling his heart rate speeding at the bad news. Unity was only his half brother, yet the two remained close to each other with a bond not even full brothers had. The image of his sister Seraphina's closing eyes appeared in his mind, and Dégel felt panic rising within him.

'It is nothing life-threatening, sir, only a light case of pneumonia, yet the young master has been suffering. I have not dared to leave his side for these past three days. But he is recovering, I believe.'

Dégel breathed out a sigh of relief at that, yet the worry would not leave him. Unity was, much like his sister Seraphina, physically frail. He had had chickenpox as a child, and numerous cases of cold ever since his birth. Seraphina herself had died of pneumonia, after a walk in the nearby woods when she was stranded in the rain. The thought sent a chill down Dégel's spine.

'Come, I want to see him. And you have been tired; go back to your room and rest. I shall tend to Unity.'

'Yes, thank you, young master.' The old man averted his eyes, looking glad at the permission to retire.

Dégel walked hastily through the long dark corridor separating the main hall and Unity's room. The flickering candles threw dancing shadows on the damask-covered walls. They looked ominous, Dégel noted to himself, but refrained from letting unreasonable fears take hold of him. At the end of the corridor, an oak door loomed heavily in the dark.

'Unity?' He knocked and called, before entering the room. In stark contrast to the dark outside, the room was brightly lit by dozens of candles. The maid standing next to the door bowed to him, before being dismissed. As he approached the bed, Dégel saw his brother already awake and looking back at him with gleaming eyes, a pile of pillows supporting him.

'Welcome home, brother.' He smiled weakly, then immediately coughed. Dégel bolted to the bed, his hand instantly on his brother's shaking back. The sound of the cough did not sound good to his ears – it was too wet for Unity to be healthy yet, but at least he was recovering.

'Do not talk, Unity; you are unwell. Come, lie down. I will get you some water.'

'Ah, I am fine, really. Do not worry yourself; I shall be able to go on horseback in a week; you will see.'

'Indeed, but now you are still weak and recovering.' Dégel frowned at his brother's stubbornness. He waited for the coughing fit to subside, before pushing him back down onto the pillow and pulling the quilt to cover him till the chin. 'How did you contract pneumonia this time?'

A sheepish smile appeared on his brother's deathly pale countenance, yet despite the pallor, utter happiness shone through his sparkling eyes. He looked like a child receiving his favourite toy on Christmas, and Dégel could not but smile at his brother's apparent affection for him.

'It has been raining dreadfully since you left, you know; there was even a hailstorm, peculiar as it is. Then the next day it all cleared up. I only thought to take a brief walk across the woodland behind our estate; it was such a nice day after that awful weather, you see. I never expected that it would rain again. And then the weather became beautiful again the day I fell ill. I would have thought it some sort of joke had it not been _me_ being forced to burry myself under a mountain of blankets and pillows.'

Dégel shook his head at the recount. It was far too similar to Seraphina's case for his comfort. Yet even before he could say anything, as if sensing his thoughts, Unity had laughed lightly.

'Do not wear that mournful look, dear brother. I promise you I will be well again soon; nothing bad is going to happen to me.' He paused, his voice turning hopeful, 'But will you stay with me till then?'

He had sounded like a child again. Dégel recalled fondly of the times he had to take care of Unity in their childhood; the boy had always been attached to him as a puppy its master. He had never denied his brother anything then, for his requests were always simply to stay with him till his fever alleviated or only till he fell asleep, and could not imagine himself changing now.

'Of course, brother.'

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was thus that another two days passed by. On the first day that Dégel was back, he had not quite remembered what it was that was missing, yet there was a vague idea persistently plaguing his mind. At some point near two o'clock that day, he had suddenly stopped talking in the middle of the story he was relating to Unity, stood up and walked out much to the astonishment of the other. It was only when Unity had called him back that he came to himself and realised what he was going to do. A sudden surge of longing hit him as a physical assault, almost making him stagger. He had turned and asked his brother if he could go out for a little while.

'I am sorry; it must be boring sitting with me here for the whole day. Please, brother, do not let me delay you. Go where you must.'

The look of pure dismay on his face tugged at a string in Dégel's heart. He recalled how easily his brother could become depressed were he to be left alone while ill. Often times he would try to crawl out of his bed into the drawing room despite his physical ailment. He had looked so pitiful then, supporting himself on the nearest piece of furniture yet still insisting that he would be alright on his own even while sweat was running in streams down his pallid countenance. The other longing was still there, unrelentingly pulling at his whole body as a tentacle its prey, and how it hurt him not to be able to just move away and disappear down the sun kissed lane, into that little corner of flowers and aroma. Nonetheless, Dégel closed the door behind him and returned to the bed.

'I apologise for my selfishness. It is you who needs me now, so shall I not stay and finish my story?'

Dégel offered his brother a smile even as he felt his facial muscles moved uncomfortably. His expression must have looked awkward, for Unity started laughing again. He had tried to make Dégel go after that, but the sheer glow of contentment emitting from his brother had nailed Dégel to his seat as surely as if he had been glued there physically. Even though the tugging had became a void that seemed to carve at his insides, Dégel ignored the numbing ache it was causing him. As the story drifted into silence at last as Unity fell asleep, Dégel allowed his mind to wander back to that place. Surely Kardia would not miss him as Unity had missed him, for what was he to the other man anyway? The other way round should hold true, too, he thought, yet in the end could not quite bring himself to believe his own lies. The mere possibility that the other might be looking for him when the week had passed was enough to make him want to break something; there was a weight on his chest that he could not lift. When he did not have to entertain his brother anymore, he started feeling immensely anxious. It was an indescribable feeling of an unpleasant sort that held his mind captive even as he tried to think about other things. It was altogether different from the sense of pure impatience during the week he was away, now that he knew there was a probability of someone who should not be important but was much more so than he ever expected waiting for him. The mere idea of disappointing that man left Dégel breathless, feeling like he was sitting on rocks and thorns and being forced to swallow an icicle. For countless times had he entertained the idea of quickly getting up and going to see Kardia; surely he could make it back before Unity woke up? Yet each and every time the thought crossed his mind, he persistently pushed it away by imagining his brother's reaction when he woke and and not see him there. It had happened once before; Unity had been so very frightened when he had returned, bringing him his medicines. The child had clung to him crying, whispering over and over again that he did not want Dégel to leave; his mother and Seraphina had been enough for his entire life – the impression was simply too great on his young mind then. Dégel was struck by a sense of self-despise every time he thought of leaving. His brother, though too weak and feminine on every standard, needed him to stay, if only when he was ill. How base would it be for him to leave his blood who was in such desperate need only to alleviate discomfort to himself? But then it was as if there was a vortex of blames going in circles within the maze that was his mind, for immediately after that, a vivid image of a man with midnight coloured hair would invade his inner sanctum, the disappointment in his bottomless eyes procuring a fresh wave of guilt upon his internal conflict. Dégel felt like tearing his hair out as he sat gazing out at the window, helpless to do anything to alleviate his plight.

The next day, as he was preparing to go out, Dégel heard a crash and some muffled expletives behind his back. When he turned around, he was greeted with the sight of his brother, who was still only in his sleep shirt, buried under a pile of books. The other must have attempted to get out of bed to find a book to read while Dégel was out. It was thus that Dégel spent the next day home, tending to his brother's every need, instead of going out to satisfy his own. The dinner that very same night, Dégel had broken a flute of champagne through negligence as he gripped it much more tightly than intended, cutting his own hand in the process. The servants all panicked and tended to his wound, though no one knew why he wore that look of absolute pain and torture as the cut was dabbed with alcohol – Dégel was a cold man who never showed his emotions, be it pain or concern or pleasure. It was a fleeting look, but those who saw it had it impressed in their eyes, for never before had they seen such a sight. A moment later, though, Dégel had schooled his expression into one of indifference; only, he had often glanced at his bandaged hand, his eyes unreadable. He spent the whole night in his study, bathing in the roaring fire at the fireplace and eyes somewhere faraway, a vaguely tender expression lingering on his countenance. The book held in his hand was never so much as looked at.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As Dégel ran as fast as his feet would carry him on the sunlit avenue, a package held tightly in his sweaty palm, the early morning chill numbed his delicate complexion without his noticing it even though his cheeks were red and raw from the wind. The time did not matter anymore to him; right then all he could care about was to get there as soon as possible. His single-mindedness in the task frightened him, for never before had he been unable to control his actions as he did then. All the same, it did not matter. Streets passed by followed by more familiar streets, and as he drew near the corner with the café and the flower stand, Dégel could feel himself getting out of breath and his heart hammering against his ribcage at the same time. For a passing moment, he had wondered how good it would be if he could just pass out right there, in front of the flower shop, if only to see the other's expression. He imagined it would have been most gratifying, but dared not continue that train of thought. Three, two, one, his steps slowed to a halt as he stopped at the crossroad where he first laid eye on the other man. His heart leapt, just as it had leapt the first time they met, as he saw Kardia preparing to open his shop, surrounded by fresh flowers that glinted off the early light reflecting on the lingering drops of dew, covering the man in a sort of ethereal halo. Dégel squinted his eyes at the too bright reflections and saw the outlines of Kardia's body blurring. A sudden fear gripped him in an ice ring as Dégel stood rooted to his spot, eyes never leaving the man even for the slightest of moment. His head started swimming from lack of air, for he had been barely breathing at the sight; so much emotions were rushing through him all at once he fancied he should have burst.

Kardia looked up from what he was doing to catch sight of someone standing there, a distance from him, wide eyes fixed on himself, as though the other could not believe what he was seeing. He stared back and saw how the early light was moving swiftly to reach the crown of the other's dark head, putting emphasis on his ruddy cheeks and wild eyes.

The staring was broken in a moment when Dégel started a brisk walk towards him, hand extending.

'Kardia.'

There was a flood of emotions in the simple name, as if a dam somewhere inside him had shattered. All of a sudden, Dégel was startled when his hand was grasped in an iron grip and he was pulled forward none too gently into a solid embrace. For a fraction of a second, his mind blanked, before it occurred to him that he was being held by the other man, his arms captive at his side as strong arms tightened on his back. His heart had stopped beating altogether in that split second, before doubling its speed, sending a wave of light-headedness through him.

'Dégel. _Dégel_! It had been more than a week, and I thought you would not come anymore! You are back, really back!'

The man's voice was as breathy as he imagined himself to be, the whisper of 'you are back' was repeated into his mane of hair over and over again, until it bled into his heart in a trickle so warm it made him shudder. Suddenly he had felt like crying as he reluctantly hugged the other back. His arms had been lax and awkward at the beginning, yet as he tightened his embrace until he could not anymore, it was as if everything was falling into place until everything was right with the world again. It felt like he was home.

'I am back.' Dégel almost choked into the strands of midnight coloured hair of the man, a sense of euphoria slowly filling every pore of his being. It seemed to him as though the period of suffering never occurred in the first place; all he could currently concentrate on was the sheer intensity of the fullness within himself, that which warmed him up and made him feel as if he was floating in a downy cloud of peace and contentment.

They stood swaying on the spot, as if dancing to a soundless tune, slow and slow they went, for an eternity that lasted only a few minutes. It might have looked odd, yet at the time, they neither understood it nor cared about what it was they were experiencing. Much later on, when Dégel reflected on the whole situation, he would realise that they must have seemed like a pair of old lovers who had not seen each other for all eternity, and that what he felt at the time was exactly what it seemed like. When they parted in the end, Dégel had felt a piece of him taken away along with the surrounding warmth, even as the sense of well-being stayed behind, procuring the first genuine smile he had had since the week. Slowly, carefully, Kardia laid a calloused hand on his face, sending blood instantly to his colouring cheeks.

'You are freezing. Come, let us sit inside this time. You can tell me about your week.'

The numbness on his face prevented him from feeling the other's hand, but all the same, heat rushed to his head when he looked into the depth that was Kardia's startling eyes that were gazing back at him with barely contained emotions, all so very violently and passionately transmitted. The blush became something else even as the cold receded and something within him quivered, uncertain as to what to feel. But all too soon, the hand fell away, leaving behind a blazing trail when his thumb glided across his cheek in a sort of caress that was not quite, as if a line had been drawn on his face in red hot iron. Dégel could not decide whether it was relief or disappointment he felt at the lift of the invisible spell binding him in place. It was the most natural thing he had ever done, then, to walk back to their little white washed café, elbows touching, eyes constantly stealing glances and smiles on their lips.

Once they were inside, Dégel's glasses instantly fogged up, forcing him to take them off in dismay. At the same time, he missed the way the other was gazing at him, completely dumbstruck, before turning quickly to order coffees for themselves. They pulled out chairs opposite each other and sat quietly, before Dégel slid the package across the table towards the other man, an almost timid smile in place.

'For you, Kardia. I thought it might look good on you…' He trailed off at the end, not knowing what else to say. It had come out somehow intimate, the whole weight of the situation striking him fully for the first time. He averted his eyes, not daring to look at the other's reaction. Utter embarrassment overcame him even more as another hand grasped his before he could draw his own back in the most fleeting of moments. He snatched his hand back as if electrocuted before noticing what he was doing. Then it suddenly struck him that he may have been rude to the other man. Dégel looked up just in time to see an unfathomable look directed at him, before Kardia lowered his eyes. The smile that came right after seemed almost sad it made Dégel want to apologise despite not knowing what to say. He opened and closed his mouth silently at last, opting for the awkward silence that ensued.

'Thank you, though you really should not have bothered.' Dégel breathed a sigh of relief when Kardia decided to save the moment by thanking him, a small unreadable smile still present on his lips. As he opened the package, a peculiar sense of expectation washed over him. Unconsciously, Dégel bit his lips.

'Don't do that, Dégel. You might bite it off, you know.' Kardia had jokingly said, amusement flashing through his eyes. But before Dégel could reply, he had pulled out the wine coloured scarf with a look akin to wonder on his countenance. 'It is beautiful.' He breathed, hands gliding over the fabric in a manner akin to caress that induced thoughts within Dégel's mind that made him coloured even more, cursing himself for vulgarity. 'Thank you.'

'You are very welcome. I only thought it would have suited you, such a handsome scarf.' Dégel released a breath he did not know he was holding. He looked up at the radiant smile the other was directing at him, letting himself, if only for that one moment, captured again by the other's intense gaze that spoke what a thousand words would not convey.

'I missed you.'

The words floated by as a breeze on a humid summer day, yet striking something deep within himself he never knew he had. Dégel gasped even as the other man looked at him determinedly, his eyes burning with something Dégel thought he knew but dared not bring himself to name, for he was too afraid. What if they could not go back to all that was before? What then? Dégel was not certain he could survive, now that he had learnt the inevitability of breathing.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3: Roses are red

Author's note: So, chapter three. As usual, thank you all those who have replied. That you have stated the reason why you like the story is in itself the best reward I can get from writing and publishing, and I am glad you do find it good. There are many things I wish to say before this chapter, and the last thing is important, so please read that at least. First, this has been a difficult chapter. I have been depressed lately and the chapter reflected this change in my mood, even though I can assure you the theme of the chapter has not deviated from my initial intentions. Also, there are just so many issues in one single chapter that need to be mentioned, or partly dealt with, and I find it hard to harmonise them all in this chapter. I really did my best, and here it is. Secondly, this is a warning that some ideas mentioned may be disturbing to some due to the dark theme, though this should not be a problem. Finally, and most importantly, there are some religious implications that some may find offensive. These statements do not necessarily reflect my view. Other than that, enjoy the chapter.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 3: Rose are red…**

Dégel fiddled with the cup in front of him, eyes glued to the brown liquid that looked as though it was swirling in its near-black shade. The silence that stretched between them was of an awful sort, one that made Dégel feel like choking on his own tongue and dying if only to avoid the oppression on his own mind. There was a pressure on his chest, weighing against his heavy mind, adding to the turmoil of warring ideas within himself. Faith, morality, social ideals, desire, need, realisation, recognition, persecution, terror, joy, contentment, all mixed into a storm that ravaged his consciousness, making him light-headed and almost feverish, not knowing what he was thinking or should be thinking anymore. The heavy stare of the other on him was still there, unwavering. Finally, with great pain, he opened his mouth: 'I… missed you too, Kardia. Terribly. But I cannot…'

'Do not say anymore, my dear Dégel. You understand as well as I do that I have been so very obvious in my advances, and my boldness is vulgar in polite company. I have overstepped my boundaries, when all I should have been entitled to feel is contentment just to be like this, a quarter of an hour every day. This feeling I bear towards you, or whatever it is I fancy myself capable of bearing, for I am yet uncertain of it, need not be named, for our friendship is much too valuable to me to be risked for something so capricious and dangerous. I, too, understand that a man of your stature cannot sit with a commoner such as myself, much less to even contemplate such a monstrosity, yet it is an unbearable thing not to be able to see you again, for me at least. The only thing I would ask of you, therefore, as a friend, is to forget what happened today. Let the unspoken remain quiet. If you could only remember me as a friend whom you are comfortable spending your spare time with, I would be happy.'

Dégel snapped his head up just in time to see Kardia's face distorting into a marble statue of grief and suffering, as if he was being tortured horribly. Perhaps he was, Dégel mused, for who could understand the feeling of being pulled in two opposing directions by myriads of feelings and principles and obligations until one could not but be shredded into a million pieces and more better than he himself, who had spent night after night dreaming of bright afternoons for an entire week that may have lasted an eternity, before realising he had not been sleeping at all? Yet as quickly as the look came, it disappeared as an illusion Dégel's mind was conjuring up just to spite him. The bottomless depths of the other's eyes were still boring into him, this time diving straight into Dégel's own ones, as if wanting to pry him apart and analyse what he was thinking, to see into his very soul, bare and unprotected under the layers of logic he built as a fortress separating himself from the world. Dégel was stunned in his place, his mind a blank sheet as to what to say. It had been the most direct approach to the forbidden topic between themselves, always dangling there, never approached, and it caught Dégel in his most unprepared moment, when all emotions were still chaotic within himself. What Kardia suggested had inexplicably caused him pain, more so than he could remember ever feeling. Then something terrible crossed his mind, one that involved a chaos where everything was forgotten, united in the void that was eternal rest. The idea excited and terrified in at the same time, so that even as his face burnt in a fever, his fingertips became chilled as ice.

Dégel was jolted out of his musing by a wet cough coming from the other side of the table. Kardia was holding his mouth with both hands, a wild look in his eyes. In a flash, he was up and running out of the café, disappearing down the lane. As if on instinct, Dégel started running after the man, though it all happened so fast he did not even have time to think about what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he fancied a voice telling him there was something important to discover, one he would forever regret should he miss. It was thus that Dégel chased the man to back of the church abutting his flower stand, where he caught sight of blue hair flying wildly and Kardia kneeling at a tree, his heaving back facing Dégel. Loud coughing could still be heard, the sound coming out as if Kardia was choking – it was as if he was drowning. As he advanced towards the man, Dégel could see his fingers frantically clawing at the tree bark till they bled, the coughing wracking his body in violent jolts. As if on automatism, he sprang towards the man in a single bound, his entire consciousness seized in terror.

' Kardia? What's wrong? Please, tell me!' In the frantic rush of his thought process, Dégel was not aware that he was shouting, his voice utterly devoid of the calm he always possessed.

'Don't worry; it'll pass in a minute.' In between his coughs, the other managed to say with difficulty, before bending in half again. In a split second, Dégel made up his mind to go get help, yet before he could turn back, a trembling hand shot out to cling to his own in a bone-crushing grip.

'Don't! It's happened before. Explain later!' The despair in the blue eyes directed at him nailed Dégel to the spot, while the coughing that followed crushed his heart much the way his hand was being held. Those eyes were still staring at him with a pleading undertone, as if begging him not to tell anybody of his ailment. The look shook him to the core, leaving him quivering in a pain almost sympathetic to the other, one that left him breathless and installing a cold deep within himself.

Kneeling to the other's level, Dégel clumsily laid a hand on his heaving back in an attempt to ameliorate the coughing. Then a sight caught his eyes, freezing up his thought process in an instant. Blood was dripping from Kardia's closed fingers onto his white shirt, blooming as roses in a morning garden. The contrast of red and white imprinted itself onto Dégel's retinas; it was beautiful and deeply terrifying at the same time, and for a fleeting moment something inside Dégel had thought it fitting, though he knew not what was. The morbid idea quickly left him, though, for his attention was again captured in finding a way to stop the fit. The only solution he knew was to rub the other's back in gentle circles, the same way he had always rubbed his brother's back, only this time with much more care and something else he could not place; but that seemed not to help at the time, and then he could not tell if it was Kardia who was shuddering or his own hand that was trembling as a leaf. Then he nearly stood up to go find help again, when the hand still holding his own tightened its grip, tugging him back to the ground urgently, as if the other could not bear to let him go. The thoughts of what he should do and the desire not to upset the other warred within his chaotic mind, adding to the pain in his chest every time Kardia shook with a particularly violent cough. At last, he settled to stay with Kardia, his hand never stopping its comforting, yet knowing there was nothing he could do for the man. The worry he was subjected to became something like an insect eating away part of his mind, as a flame slowly, carefully burning within, one which he could not put out despite his best efforts. At the same time, a sense of helplessness overcame him, and the only thing he could think of to do then was to pray to whoever that would listen, that this man's suffering would stop. Running again and again through his feverish mind were the lines in his native language he had been taught since young, jumbled and disconnected, yet fervent and earnest as he had never prayed. Dégel realised he had never known true despair till he saw for himself what it was.

At long last, the coughing subsided into harsh panting. Kardia's lips had almost turned blue from lack of air, a constant shiver wracking his body still. Sweat was running down his face in streams, but Dégel imagined he was finally seeing the end of the fit, and was infinitely glad for that small grace.

'Perhaps we should go inside the church for you to recover. Come, pray let me help you.' With a trembling voice, he lifted his hand to place it under Kardia's arm while carefully extracting his other hand from the other's grip. The shaken feeling never left him, but hope was starting to illuminate the part of his mind that still managed to remain rational now that he could see that the man was in no mortal danger.

Kardia nodded weakly, before attempting to stand. His legs failed him, however, and he almost tumbled down had it not been for Dégel's support. A fresh wave of panic washed through him as the weight in his hands increased when the other fell, before instinct took over once again so that he instantly pulled the man against himself, supporting him with his own body.

'Pardon me.' Quietly, Dégel slipped the arm around his shoulders, his other hand placing itself firmly onto Kardia's waist. The heat emanating from the man burnt as a fire at his side, while the heaving breaths shook Dégel's own body in jerking shudders. The idea was distracting, yet Dégel could not but give a part of his mind to savouring the warmth of a human body next to his, the one contact he had missed for so long, all the while cursing himself for failing to focus solely on the simple task of getting Kardia into the building. How base, how licentious of him, he had thought, to even let himself think of such carnality when the other was suffering from so much torment. And even if he was not suffering, it was still an abomination to think of another man in such a way; _he _was an abomination, for it was against all the morality accepted by a civilised society and everything he had known since his childhood. The thought weighed as a boulder against his heart, which still throbbed every time he looked up and saw Kardia's face contorted in pain, while the wheezing sound of his laboured breath bore into his soul. All the same, Dégel could feel himself getting even more sensitive, for every time they halted in their steps, jostling the body leaning against him, it was once that electricity ran through his entire being, repeating again and again with escalating intensity until it made him blush in embarrassment at his body's reactions, something which he could not control despite the usual stoicism he was so proud of.

Before he knew it, they were already inside the church, the atmosphere thick and cold. Slowly lowering the other man onto a pew, Dégel could not take his eyes off his pallid countenance. He was particularly drew to the crunched together eyebrows and could not but be fascinated by the honest emotions they could convey. At that point, he knew Kardia was in indescribable agony. Judging from the amount of blood the other coughed up, he could at least guess that his lungs were filled with the liquid. Dégel wondered how it would feel like, to drown in one's own blood, suffocated by that which sustained one's very life, day after day, to feel excruciating pain every time one drew in a breath, or speak, or laugh, for that matter. The thought that occurred to him was a terrible one, yet he could but wish he could take Kardia's place right then, to suffer instead of him who could laugh so freely and shine with so much life. What he would not do to see Kardia free from that torment; though his heart ached in empathy and his breathing hitched every time Kardia's did, it was of no help to the man, and that, above all, hurt Dégel the most.

He suddenly noticed the sweat still drying on Kardia's face, and as his eyes moved lower, the vivid colour of the blood on the other's lips and chin caught his attention in a sort of morbid fascination. Slowly, not realising what he was trying to do, Dégel reached out his hand to touch the liquid. It was sticky against his skin, and losing its warmth already; queer how it had been so heated before, flowing inside that man, radiating such heat that might have burnt his own delicate skin on contact before. Now, though, it looked wrong, because that was the same blood Kardia had coughed out in utmost agony. To smear his countenance in such deadly redness, when all that should have been there should have been a bright smile and nothing more, the sight of the blood made for a picture in which everything was wrong, as one in which the sun had lost its light to darkness. Dégel wanted nothing then but to wipe that wrongness away, to restore to the man in front of him the image he should have had, because it pained him, too, to see and understand the implications of what he was seeing. His mind still a blank, but with great care, as if he was touching something so fragile it would break should he breathed loudly, Dégel again raised his hand to dab at the blood on the other's lips, marvelling at the feeling pricking at his fingertips without meaning to.

'Dégel.' All of a sudden, Kardia's eyes snapped open, frightening Dégel out of his trance. Yet, even as he snatched his hand back as if bitten, his eyes were already captured in the piercing gaze boring into himself only. For that whole second, unblinkingly, Kardia had looked straight at him, and the swirling storm within those depths caused a blush to instantly rush to his cheeks, catching his breath somewhere he could not remember, before the man averted his eyes to the side, letting the spell between them break. In a small, ragged voice, he said: 'Thank you. I shall need a few minutes to recuperate, but I am well now. I would hate to delay you…'

'What nonsense you speak, my Kardia.' Before he could finish, Dégel had interjected in bewilderment and utter dismay, 'I shall stay with you till you can stand again; you cannot reasonably expect me to leave you thus, can you? Yet, if you want me to inform your… colleague of this illness, I shall be glad to comply.'

'No, that will be unnecessary, but I am much obliged.' At long last, a small but sincere smile was granted to him, and somehow, Dégel suddenly felt it was easier to breathe.

Nodding his acknowledgement, Dégel turned away, refusing to recognise what he had almost done in his frenzied state. He suddenly caught sight of the altar, with a stone cross upon it, resting in the shadow of a niche, and the idea that he had not prayed occurred to him. And so he went to do his duty, and partly to relieve what was in his heavy heart. With his forehead against his clasped hands, Dégel pray with a fervour he had never known. He prayed for Kardia's life, for his happiness, for salvation from danger, and that he himself could be free from impiety, so that his connection with the other man, undefined as it was, would not be defiled by his covetousness. He envisioned the City of God in his prayer, imagining Kardia to be there, in his rightful place, as he was supposed to be. In his vision of the heavenly kingdom, the good and the kind would live in eternal tranquility; yet, if so, it would be most unjust if someone who shone like the sun on a clear day had to suffer from so much agony. Even in his prayers, Dégel could feel his emotions starting to overwhelm his calm. He questioned the goodness he was praying towards, for surely if something was ever good, it must have been Kardia, who had been writhing as he coughed up blood only moments ago. The doubt quickly left him, though, and in its place he could feel a silent fury rising. Fury against what he knew not, yet all he could comprehend was that that man should not have been suffering as he did then. As his breathing started to increase, Dégel became more excited by the obsessive idea; what he would not do – indeed what monstrous crime he would not commit – to have that one man healthy again, to see him in his lively disposition amongst all that was good and beautiful. What it would be like, to be nailed to a cross to save another, to feel one's blood freely flowing from one's side, and a thousand thorns as a crown on one's head; Dégel was certain he would have been glad to do it, over and over, for as long as it would take, if only to save that one man. Another part of him shrunk from the awful notion he was getting lost in, insisting to himself that he could never in his right mind even entertain such dark intentions. He was revolted at himself, and at the same time the intensity of his feelings for the man despite what little contact they had shared installed in him an amazement so profound he had never been quite able to forget after that. Then, as quickly as it came, the thought vanished from his mind, replaced by an uncontrollable panic that squeezed his heart in an awfully tight clamp. Unlike the preceding fury, this terror seized his entire being as a plague, slowing sinking into his consciousness in droplet followed by droplet, filling up the turmoil within him, as wine filling up a goblet slowly, carefully, before the last drop overflowed the whole cup in an unstoppable flood. As he kneeled, his eyes still closing, Dégel fancied the air was getting colder; there was something akin to a winter gale gliding over his skin, and the cold seeped in through his flesh and bones, dropping into the pit of his stomach as a boulder. If the world would be like that should Kardia succumb to his illness, though what it was he knew not, then Dégel thought it would have been better for time to stop there for an eternity after all; the prospect of enduring the kind of cold that he was experiencing, one that cut through his insides with what felt like an icy blade, was not something he looked forward to; he dreaded it, in fact.

With a violent shudder, Dégel opened his eyes to observe his surroundings again. It was still too early for the candles to be lit; the church was enveloped in a half-twilight, with shadows dancing over everything in sight. Feeble rays of light streamed in through the stained glass windows on the east side, showering a spectrum of glinting colours upon the ground of grey stone. Somehow, Dégel noted, the shades had appeared dull to him. The image of flowers flashed through his mind, before receding, leaving behind it a void in the shape of a rose window. In the light, he could see tiny particles of dust floating around, light as feathers. Dégel was tempted to come towards the light, to bathe himself in it and let it wash away all of his worries and his fears, though another part of him well knew that it was impossible, and that it was foolish of him to even consider such folly in the first place. The imposing arches of stone stretched through the length of the church, as a dome smothering up Dégel's light. Columns followed by columns led to the dark door at the other end of the aisle, the repetition making his head swim, dividing the space into small plots as bars on windows, whereas the high space in between the two columns was starkly empty; the contrast left Dégel feeling small, shrinking into himself before the enclosed vastness. It was almost like a cage, and the comparison sent an unpleasant feeling down his spine. That feeling soon developed into a sense of desolation that overcame him, and his feet moved on their own to seek out the other, if only to have silent comfort in his presence and nothing more – then Dégel swore he would be contented.

He walked without walking towards Kardia, who was sitting where he had been left, his head on his chest in a position akin to when one was praying, his body obscured in darkness. Yet, it was then that the sun moved just right, so that the window behind the man lit up as the sun, before light steadily trickled through, string by delicate string, until Kardia was swallowed in blinding brightness. His bowed head cast a shadow on his face, but the half that was turned towards the sun was gilt in silver and gold, and the man stood out amongst his grey and dull surrounding as an angel just descended from the far heavens, here praying towards his Lord's grace and mercy. Dégel had to squint his eyes for a moment; he stood there, absolutely stunned, and not believing such beauty could exist on earth. Surely, this must have been the work of the Lord? Then, realisation dawned upon him; it was as though he was having an epiphany, one which sent his blood roaring in his ears and his heart fluttering. Determination settled in him.

Dégel approached Kardia, still in his blinding halo, and took his face between his hands. The action startled the man, who opened his eyes to stare at him, a wondering look in his eyes. Dégel merely stared straight back, before kissing him on both cheeks, light as the touch of a butterfly. He was blushing furiously, but refused to avert his gaze all the same.

'Listen well, Kardia. This ailment of yours bothers me; it is very serious, from the look of it. I cannot ignore it, whatever you may say, for you are precious to me as a friend. My own covetousness is not worth mentioning; yet I am a coward not to be able to keep away from you; I yearn too much for your company for that. If you could forgive me this impropriety, I shall come tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until time does not matter anymore. Nor will I forget this day; I will admit I have been shaken, and these feelings within me cannot be named, for they are too numerous and complicated, yet if I forget them, I would better not live at all. Your words shall stay a treasure to me, what you have said shall be my happiness. _You _are my happiness. What befell Sodom and Gomorrah, I shall bear on my own shoulders, but I beseech you not to deprive me of this happiness also. I am afraid, Kardia, that one day you will die from this terrible condition of yours. Pray do not leave me in the dark about it; I may be able to do something about it; I may not; yet I need to know what to do to help you when you are suffering. Not being to ameliorate your pain pains me, but at least grant me comprehension, so that I may stay with you through it.'

At first there was no reaction from Kardia, but then the man suddenly drew in a shuddering breath, before catching the hand holding his face in his still blood-stained own. Drawing that white hand within his towards his own heart, their joint hands placed a single scarlet rose of blood on the pristine white fabric, as a symbol neither dared to recognise, yet knowing all the while what it was that underlied their strange relationship. Dégel was mesmerised by that bloody rose; it was beautiful in a deadly sort of way, casting a shadow of dread upon him even as warmth bloomed inside his heart as sunlight upon a morning garden. The idea that perhaps he should try wearing a red rose from then on occurred to him, yet even as he dismissed it as a folly of naivety, unlike his previous other ideas and fluctuating states of emotions, it stayed in the back of his mind, always ready to surface, for he could not make himself let go of the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, finally, that single scarlet rose would be what connected the two of them. Standing there in the blinding white light, with his hand still on the other's heart, held under the scorching heat of a fevered palm, Dégel could not envision a more perfect place for him to be. The dark about them faded away; in that moment it was only him, this man, and the steady thumping of his heart.

Kardia smiled, as he had always smiled, and pulled Dégel down beside him. His voice rang as a hymn in the quiet of the hollow void which was beginning to light up in a rainbow of colours; it was as though the mere presence of the man had chased away the shadows with what brilliant warmth he exuded. Dégel basked in Kardia's fire, and he was happy.

'Very well, my Dégel. I shall tell you about this illness of mine. Remember only, that tomorrow, at two, you shall come, as you have done, as you would do, for if only for that brief moment, your time is mine. You are claimed.'

'Yes' – was Dégel's breathless reply.

And their joint hands upon the scarlet bloody rose stayed as they were, for an eternity.


	4. Chapter 4: Yet thy blood is blue

Author's note: Hi all. Thank you for coming with me thus far, all those who read and those who reviewed, and special thanks to Kenouki for supporting me through your reviews; your opinion and enjoyment made it all worth it. For the time coming I will still try to write and update, but because exam is looming and I'm about a thousand miles behind with work, I can't be sure if I will be able to write regularly anymore. Of course I will write when I have time, but this is just heads up that if you don't see me for about a month or so, that will be because I am in revision. If you don't see me after May, that will be because I failed and entered depression. Otherwise, I'll still update when I can – if you care, of course. Sorry for rambling; here's the story.

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**Chapter 4: …Yet thy blood is blue**

Dégel sipped his tea, contented. Outside, the sky was a perfect dark tapestry hanging against the space, acting as the silver behind the glass in a perfect mirror. The glass pane of the window reflected the dancing fire within the fireplace, all shades of yellow and orange twisting together in a warm undefined glow, reflecting upon the contours of his own pale face. In his surroundings of red damasks and tapestries lined in gold strings, the heat seemed to emit from everywhere within the room. There was something missing, though, but at the moment, Dégel did not mind too much; his memories were sufficient to keep him occupied. Dégel sank deeper into his armchair, losing himself to the memory of that morning.

In the blinding light of the morning amongst the disappearing surrounding darkness, they had sat, knee by knee, hands joint with fingers intertwined as pieces of a puzzle fit together by great craft since an eternity. As light showered their heads in silver and gold, Kardia had told him, in a voice barely above a whisper, of his ailment, his thoughts, and his fears. He had told him about being shot by someone, the bullet going through his body, puncturing a hole in his lung. With that, it had been a miracle that he had survived, his blood clotting up quickly to close the gaping hole in his breathing apparatus; it could have very well bled him to death; or any air he had drawn it could have escaped before oxygen could enter his blood stream, and he could have died of asphyxiation; or the whole area could have simply developed into infection and he could have died a very painful death. Ever since then, he had never really recovered; it was not that the wound ever stopped bleeding; it just did so very, very slowly, so that blood started filling up his lungs until he could not but have to cough it all out in writhing agony. It turned out exactly as Dégel had feared; Kardia was drowning in his own blood, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop his suffering. Then he told Dégel about his musings, about the meaning of life, about the _télos_, about the grace of the Lord, the problem of evil, the meaning of suffering, of passion, of dreams, and all that had ever fascinated Dégel. He had sat there silently, listening to the other man in a timeless trance, the chaos of warring emotions within him gradually calming into a summer breeze that soothed his hurting soul. Finally, Kardia's burning hand let go of his own, and in a whisper that faded into silence, he had concluded: ''Tis not death I fear, my dear Dégel, but only that I shall not see you again.' Dégel's heart had dropped into the pit of his stomach as a stone, even as blood rushed to his face in a furious blush. He refused to drop their eye contact, though, for it was far too late to deny anything. In the awkward quiet that ensued between them, Kardia had hugged him one last time, before dropping the words 'I shall see you tomorrow' in his colouring ear, and walked to the back of the altar without turning back. Unable to support himself, Dégel had staggered down onto the pew, where he sat pondering all that had happened, again and again, until he realised with a start that the morning mass had just ended, and that he had been sitting there for over an hour in leave of his senses, blood on his hands and some drying on his shirt. Quickly standing, he rushed out of the church into the slight chill of the morning air, back home where he kept himself locked in his study for the whole day. He was terribly absent-minded for the length of that day, not really knowing what he had been thinking about. At intervals, he startled, as if waking up from a dream, a strange look in his eyes, before sinking back into the current of his thoughts. They were mere ideas hurrying past his mind; Dégel was helpless to prevent or control them; it was as though he was a visitor in his own mind, witnessing what was unfolding without truly participating. It was disconcerting, yet he could not bring himself to care, lost as he was. It was thus that he lay buried in his waking dreams, watching himself from a distance even as waves of terrible emotions crashed upon his consciousness. When he came to himself it was already evening, but his mind was clear, at least. During his passive yet meticulous analysis of his own mental states, Dégel had realised that he had fallen beyond salvation, and had come to terms with it, at least partly so. He had embraced who he was, even if immoral and probably psychologically ill by any social standard, for his strife was a mere passing wind compared to the fronts Kardia had to face. The memory of blazing scarlet flashed through his mind, and Dégel internally cringed. Knowing Kardia was suffering with every breath he drew hurt more than he ever understood; he wanted to be near that man, to do what he could to help him. Dégel was no saint, that much he comprehended, and his desire to be near to the other was a mere selfish wish personal to him, though which he could not let go and did not want to let go; as stated, he had already fallen too deep to be salvaged. Though the anguish for turning his back to the teachings of the Lord plagued him as a blunt knife relentlessly carving at his soul, the mere thought of not seeing the other man terrified him. He had thought, then, to sin and be condemned to hell was better than having to endure an eternity through that horror.

'You have been very… distracted today, brother. What is bothering you so?'

The voice of his brother startled Dégel out of his reverie. Looking up from his lap, he noticed the other standing at his door, hands folded upon his chest and a displeased look on his features.

'May I keep you company?'

Dégel nodded absently, before returning to watch the fireplace. He wondered how his brother would have reacted should he know of the darkness within Dégel – the thought sent a jolt of dread down his spine. Then, with cold realisation, he noticed he had not visited Unity for that whole day, when he was still ill and in need of care, too lost was he in his own mind. Looking to his brother, who was sinking into the armchair opposite his with a look of immense relief on his countenance, Dégel opened his mouth to apologise, but a held up hand had stopped him from his next words.

'I am well, brother, pray do not worry about it, and not a word more about this triviality. In fact, my behaviour these past two days very much embarrassed me – I must have been a burden. But I can get out of bed now, and will be strong again soon. What worries me is you, Dégel. I have noticed you have been very absent-minded ever since your return from the trip. Are you well? Is it an academic matter?'

Pondering his words for a while, Dégel decided not to lie to his brother: 'I am well, indeed. It is only that my mind has been quite occupied as of late, and I apologise for it. Nor is it an academic concern, of that I should have thought you would never doubt me. No, this is another matter, and a grave one if I may say so myself, yet it is very personal to me. Thus, you must forgive me if I do not disclose this matter to you; pray do not take offense, you know I would share with you anything other than this difficulty.'

Dégel observed his brother's expression carefully even as he spoke, and for a split second he fancied the lines of his brother's face contorted into an ugly mask of rage, before disappearing as a wisp of smoke in the wind. Yet, the smile that bloomed on his lips afterwards was strange and of an awful sort, one that would have appalled Seraphina should she see it upon her own brother's face; it was as though there was a snarling beast in place of the smiling Unity. The shade the roaring fire threw upon his countenance only served to accentuate the contrast between the black of Unity's pupils and the icy blue of his irises, which almost glowed and moved as quicksilver in the dark of the room. With a distinctly low voice, he answered in a manner as if he was chewing on his words: 'Of course, dear brother.'

The silence that settled amplified the crackling of the flame, the noise drilling into Dégel's fraying nerves. He could not understand his brother's reaction, nor could he be certain of the evidence of his own eyes. The musty smell of his books suddenly assaulted his senses, along with the scent of incense burning. His ears suddenly became sharp and sensitive to even the smallest noise – he could hear the wind whistling against his windows, and the rustling of tree branches outside - and then he could almost feel a prickling on his skin, an unpleasant sensation as though something was crawling upon it. However, the feeling lasted only a brief moment, before dulling into a sort of throbbing at the back of his mind, almost as an alarm against something terrible about to happen. As he turned to his brother, Unity had already lost his predatory smile; in its place was the usual benign expression Dégel had been used to since his childhood.

'Today I heard talks of you being offered a professor chair. Is it true?'

'You heard? It was merely a consideration going about in the department…'

'Nonsense! I can bet you shall get the chair at the end of the year. Father is already considering holding a banquet in your honour.' Unity leaned forward, grinning slyly, 'And all the ladies around shall come to say their congratulations, of course.'

Dégel blushed slightly, before a frown appeared upon his countenance. 'Now _that _is nonsense. What need do I have of this unnecessary bother, pray tell? He is squandering the household's fortune instead of making sensible investments; I see no wisdom in such extravagance. Come, brother, do not tell me you approve of this folly, for I would have been quite disappointed otherwise.'

'Oh, but I do, dear brother. See here, you shall soon become the head of the Leblanc barony. One day you shall become Baron Leblanc yourself, and being Professor Leblanc does not advance you in society, but being _Baron _Leblanc does. You need to make yourself acquainted with these "extravagances", Dégel dear. Father would not be persuaded otherwise anyway. As to my last point, you _are _expected to get married one day, you know. What harm can seeing your future wife now do, pray tell?'

Sudden pain clutched his heart, and Dégel gasped before falling back into his chair. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he turned away, laying his head upon his raised hand.

'I do not wish to talk of such delicate issues at this moment, brother; you, of all people, should understand that all I wish to engage in at present is to do research in the academia. All this talk of engagement and marriage tire me greatly, and I would rather not touch upon the topic if I can. And, shall I remind you, I would have been happy to let you succeed as the next Baron Leblanc; the title holds no meaning to me whatsoever!'

'And I understand, brother, I do. I would have shared your burden if I could.'

The hand that reached out to squeeze his own was soft and small as a lady's hand, but Dégel never noticed the gesture in the first place, for he was again losing himself to his musings. As the touch lingered there, Dégel never saw the look of pure contempt marring his brother's young visage. After a while, the other stood up and walked out, closing the door without the slightest sound.

It was early morning three days after that found a young man with long platinum coloured hair standing in front of the sun kissed flower stand. He had a top hat upon his fair head, the brim of which was casting a shade over part of his pallid face under the pale morning light. Amongst his white surroundings, the man stood out in his dark outfit; his shadow was grey and long upon the washed pavement. A frown was visible upon his downturned lips, and his eyes seemed to gleam in the shade of his hat. With a deliberate languorous stroll, the man approached the small shop. His gloved hand tightened on the silver grip of his cane as he drew near, his thumb caressing the smooth side of it before removing itself to return again to the side of his forefinger.

'Good day.' As Unity tilted his head to the side, a particularly bright ray hit his face, putting emphasis upon the pleasant smile he had on even as his hair shone as the sun itself. Suddenly, his whole being appeared to blend into the various flowers about the shop as the smile illuminated his countenance; it was something strange that gave off a sweet and benign feeling as a spring breeze.

The dark haired man arranging the work table inside the stand looked up from his work with something akin to wonder in his eyes, before wiping his hand on a cloth nearby and went out to greet his customer.

'Good day, sir. How may I be of service to you?' He greeted back with a lopsided smile of his own.

'Ah, I was only wondering if you could make me a bouquet of blue roses, the type with that intense shade of blue you would give to your secretly beloved.' Still with the pleasant smile, Unity made a vague gesture with his hand, before placing it upon his own heart.

Kardia frowned in confusion, before shrugging: 'Apologies, sir; we do not have that kind of roses. Perhaps you would be so kind as to consider red roses? They are most beautiful this fine morning.'

The innocuous smile upon the other's lips only widened at that, before his eyes found the startling blue of Kardia's. 'My, what a pity! And here I was ready to purchase all the blue roses that you had – if you did, of course; red roses are only too common, you see. They are not a fitting gift for the person I intend to present them to, someone unreachable that should be surrounded by only the best of best. You must agree with me, my good sir, that this property of being common diminishes the worth of these beautiful scarlet roses that you have; I would have purchased them all otherwise.'

A look of unease crossed Kardia's countenance, before he shrugged again. 'I would beg to differ, sir. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder – personally I would have preferred these red roses to any other. Besides, the beauty of flowers is not something measured by external factors, I don't think; it is a good in itself, to be enjoyed by all those capable of admiring. Surely you would not suppose a blue rose any less beautiful than it is, should it become more common than it currently is?'

'Indeed not; yet only think, if you should lay your hand upon such a blue rose, would you not charge more for it only by virtue of its rarity?'

For a split second, the light smile seemed to waver, before returning with a sweetness that almost hurt to merely look at. At the same time, a dark scowl settled onto Kardia's expression. The hand at his side curled into a fist, before forcefully relaxing itself even as his shoulders squared up, his posture turning rigid as a rod. There was a terrible anger that burned up within his impossibly blue eyes; it was a terrifyingly violent passion that seemed to seep from every pore of his entire being. Yet before he could say anything in response, there was a petite hand upon his shoulder, restraining him from any further word.

'My sincerest apologies, sir. Kardia here bears no ill will; he is merely in an argumentative mood this morning. Please do forgive his lack of manner.'

A beautiful young woman with hair the colour of sunset and warm green eyes appeared from behind the man, a sheepish smile upon her lips. With a glance, Kardia clucked his tongue before angrily leaving, the phantom of his dark expression still haunting his features in the deep crease between his brows. Meanwhile, the well-dressed man merely smiled back at the woman politely.

'Not at all, mademoiselle. We had a most enlightening conversation, but I am afraid I must depart now, though I would have liked to remain for a while longer. Ah, no matter, perhaps I shall visit again.'

Inclining his head, Unity departed down the sunlit lane, the rising sun against his back. With a spring in his steps, the length of his dark shadow upon the road shrunk, the shade of his hat once again thrown upon his fair visage even as his smile vaporised into a thin line of downturned lips, before slowly inching into a triumphant grin.

When Dégel sat at the café that afternoon, he noticed the quiet haunting the other. They had still greeted each other with smiles on their lips, yet there was an air of unease with Kardia; the man would not look him in the eye – when he did glance at Dégel, it was with the same unreadable look he often used. The silence between them dawned on him that ever since that first conversation, it had always been Kardia who talked and he who listened. There was little in common between them, yet all that Kardia had spoken about, Dégel remembered to heart; it was nothing out of the ordinary, yet Dégel could not but be riveted on each word uttered as a thirsting man on every drop of rain from heavens. After so long of listening to other, the quiet unsettled Dégel. He was confused and agitated at the unusual silence Kardia was immersing himself in. There was a contemplative look on his face, his brows drawn together and his eyes far away, something immensely sad within them. As the faded light of an autumn afternoon poured over his dark head, Dégel suddenly found himself unable to avert his eyes from the painting before him; the gentleness of the light in its almost white seemed to hide the man behind a veil, so that everything appeared unreal in the bleached overtone. In that moment, there was something ancient and inexplicably wise about him, as if the whole scene was something emerging from an old forgotten book. Dégel was struck with sorrow the longer he gazed at Kardia. The feeling was a vague, lingering sense of sadness, slow and gentle in its advance, yet in the stillness of that faded autumn afternoon, it was a blanket enveloping all, seeping into everything present until it bled. Finally, unable to contain himself, he reached across the table to touch the other with the most bashful contact that was barely there, never truly invading.

'Kardia?' As bottomless blue eyes were directed at himself for the first time, Dégel felt his breathing slowed. 'You seem ill at ease. Am I imposing?'

There was a blank, before the other shook his head slowly, eyes still boring straight into Dégel's. There was an almost twisted smile on his face, something strange and bitter that pained Dégel as a sting in his heart.

'What would possess you to think that, my dear Dégel? I was only wondering, if a blue rose is indeed more beautiful than a scarlet one just because of its rarity. What idiocy, don't you think? For in the end, I would still love a red rose more, a thousand, a million times more, yet knowing all the while it was not fitting.'

Dégel pondered his words for some time, before responding with caution: 'Nonetheless, you know what you love in the end, and nothing could induce you to change your mind – not that knowledge, nor any other's opinion. What use, then, is brooding over the question, Kardia? This is unlike you.'

'Oh?' An amused eyebrow quirked up, 'And pray tell, how do I appear in your eyes? You spoke as though you have known me for a long time.'

There was something cruel in his words, and the implication made Dégel blush furiously in an instant even as his heart froze in fright. To hear such bitterness directed at himself by that one man took his breath away from him; the words stung as venom from a scorpion – the pain was sharp and burning at first, but immediately numbing his entire being even as the wound throbbed painfully still. But before he could say anything in reply, a hand had shot out to catch his own.

'Forgive me,' There was suddenly a look of horror in the other's eyes, 'I have said something rude. It was thoughtless of me.'

Then, abruptly, wrath replaced horror, burning his eyes another shade of blue, one so intense it threatened to swallow up Dégel in its depths. The hand holding his tightened painfully, and he winced. A second later, though, his hand was released as the other squeezed his eyes shut and placed his fingers against his temple. He could hear the sound of a shaky breath being drawn, before blue eyes gazed at him again. The look he received made him flush a terrible shade of red even as he stilled, as if struck by lightning. He imagined he could hear the sound of something shattering, a sharp sort of sound as a bell tinkling, before Kardia rose.

'I am in no state to accompany you at the moment. Perhaps I should go, but I shall see you tomorrow.'

Before Dégel could comprehend what was happening, Kardia had already crossed the street to retreat into his shop. Somehow, the afternoon was broken, and there was nothing that could put it back together again. Perplexity and great agitation enveloped him, yet as he sat and thought, it soon became clear to him what might be plaguing the other's mind. He was uncertain of the idea, yet it was the very same thing that constantly haunted he himself during his sleepless nights and his morning prayers. Then, as he looked to the flower stand and saw the other man sitting in the shade inside, a hand buried in his wild hair and a deep scowl adorning his features, all shades of colour from the surrounding flowers faded. It was as though Dégel was seeing the world through lenses of a dead and grey tint, only the other man standing out in his dark melancholy. Grief squeezed his heart in an iron clutch as he watched the other man wallowing in pain, as if he was deriving a sort of morbid pleasure from it. Something within his chest cavity throbbed in response, and at once a sudden urge possessed him; it was unlike any other of his urges – it was insistent, and overpowering, something that left him no choice but to follow - and without knowing what he was doing, Dégel rose and followed his track. Into the shop, away from the pale sunshine, the various blossoms about him seemed to lose their vibrant colours. Yet, with unwavering determination, Dégel approached the man. Drawing a single rose in full bloom from a bucket nearby, he held it up between pale fingers.

'Kardia. I do not know for certain what is plaguing you so, but I do think I may have an idea. I shall leave as you wish, but there is only one thing I want you to know.'

As gleaming eyes directed themselves again upon him, a swirling storm of emotions vivid within them, Dégel continued, shyly but resolutely: 'As you do, it is red roses that I love, never a blue one. For see here,' he held up his finger, a single scarlet drop blooming upon the white of his skin, 'Red is my blood, and always will be.'

The pause the ensued seemed to last for an eternity, during which time Dégel's heart virtually stopped, but all was worthed it then, because Kardia, with a care almost as if he was touching a most fragile treasure, reached out to pull Dégel's bleeding hand close. With something akin to reverence, the man kissed the droplet away from his finger, his lips pressing in a sinful caress against his quivering skin. Dégel felt a shiver running up his side, running straight into his soul in a trembling flame, flickering to life to consume all that he was. For a long, long time, the contact never ended; barely there, just touching, yet never separating. The sting from when he pricked himself with a thorn earlier faded into something he dared not name, yet it was as a fire burning upon his skin. The feel of chapped lips and callused fingers against his hand stirred up a tempest within him, a craving that seemed to drive him out of his mind, his lips trembling and a scarlet flush high on his fair cheeks. Eyes drowning in impossibly blue eyes, everything moved in slow motion, then, and with a vacant mind, he barely registered the other man taking the rose to pin it upon the lapel of his coat, his eyes tender and his hand a corresponding quiver to what Dégel was feeling. There was still something sad within his eyes, but he appeared much calmer than previously, and the mere sight was enough for joy to flood his entire being.

In a voice barely audible, he whispered: 'Take it, then, all of it for a blue rose. I shall hold your words dear to my heart.'

For a long time after, Dégel could not remember what he was doing, the words echoing over and over within his mind, but when he came to, he was already on his way back. Time seemed to stop for him, who stood alone amongst the rush of people nearby, letting an ocean of light wash over himself. The rays had lost their golden hue of the summer honey, but in its place there was a tender touch of autumn, a lightness that danced a timeless waltz. Looking down at his hand, embarrassment overcame him in a terrible blush, yet he could not but smile. At last, he was able to bring himself closer to that one man, to feel himself being drawn in irresistibly and not fighting the force for the first time. Elation coursed through him, wave after wave, until he wanted to laugh out loud in exuberance. For a moment, Dégel forgot about all that bothered him. He simply basked in the pale afternoon light, letting warmth trickle into his heart in the shape of a scarlet rose.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5: As the touch of a feather

Author's note: Hi! I'm back. Anyone missed me? As I thought, revision is arduous, and it's unlikely I'll be able to update again before May. But I don't want to drop the quality of the chapters, so it'll take a while. As for this chapter, I spent a ridiculously long time studying the history of gas lighting and the Greek dances, only to find out that at the time, there was no gas lamp yet and the Greek dances aren't exactly what I envisioned them to be. It was fun writing but skimming through YouTube was quite a horrid task. Anyhow, I got the feeling that the story has been getting dark and heavy lately, so I wanted to make this chapter lighter, bit more poetic too if possible. Tell me what you think, please?

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**Chapter 5: As the touch of a feather**

Time is something strange, perhaps the strangest of all things out there. It exists alongside all that is, to be with and within the world as it is known. For that reason, there can be no doubt that it is an objective entity. See, for example, the transition of a bright autumn afternoon, light as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, to the crisp winter day, when the sun hides behind heavy clouds and the wind sweeps through roads with billowing swipes, pulling the lone leaves remaining into a melancholic waltz. The sky was so blue before, the kind of blue that deepens when summer silently passes her throne of season, and there was something so very gentle about the sunlight, the way it showered all in a veil of white that suffused in a sense of longing that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. But because time moves as it does, there was no eternity there. Without anyone noticing, the leaves on the trees grew older as each day passed, until one day, when suddenly one opened his eyes and saw the green had changed into yellow, the colour bright and sweet as the taste of a ripe plum. And then, some grew brown, the others red, some embraced their last dance with the breeze with enthusiasm, while others lingered on the drying branches as if afraid to cut the last string attaching them to the flow of life. Then one day, the painting full of such vibrant colours disappeared, as time would have it. Gray slowly crept into what was blue before, and sunlight lost its colour altogether. Under the waning sun that could not pierce through the piling layers of clouds, the little town covered itself with a blanket of gray. There was something quiet invading the space, as if life itself knew when to dim its brilliance in the blanch of winter. Yet, within houses where candles and lamps were lit, a warmth greater than any before pervaded every part of the room in a golden glow more intense than the summer sun. Smoking cups of coffees, fond eyes, and a quiet afternoon spent gazing out of the window, laughing in silence at the gray out there, a stark contrast to the warmth and companionship one was never short of yet could never get enough of. It was strange, because time is inherently subjective, too. Laughing eyes, endless conversations on everything and nothing all at once, a bashful touch, a hold of the hand, someone's blushing as the bloom of a timid rose on snow white cheeks, it was as though time had never moved, because there was always something warm there, and in the white of the little café, everything stretched into an eternity that lasted exactly fifteen minutes every day. The baskets of flowers wilted, yet in their place there were evergreens, their passion for life reflected in one single lopsided smile over a scarlet scarf. The little town appeared as if it had gone to sleep, yet those who had their time preserved knew better than anyone that it was not so, because the warmth was still there, shared over the appreciative silence of a quiet afternoon and the laughs exchanged in pure mirth alike.

In the quiet mornings of the gray winter, Doctor Dégel Leblanc was officially offered a professor chair in the Department of Classics at the town university, to be commenced at the start of Lent. It was a small event, really, in the busy flow of people hurrying about their own business, yet for those involved, it was one of the most significant incidents. The Baron Leblanc had not wasted the opportunity to hold a formal re-introduction of his eldest son into the nobility by a banquet held at the family estate. The date intended was a week before Christmas Eve, but much, much earlier, his second son, M. Unity Leblanc, immediately after the news was announced, had arranged for his half-brother a private drinking party between the two siblings. Beneath the silver moon, they had sat in front of the window, facing each other and glasses in hand. It had been a pleasant sort of conversation, much too polite and impersonal in Dégel's opinion, yet familial all the same. He was deeply grateful for the fact that he had a brother who understood him, yet there was something missing that made the rendezvous just a tad empty. All the same, an immense sense of achievement filled his heart, which slowly grew into an urge to share. It was a strange thing for him, because before that he had never experienced such a sensation; even if he did, holding a quiet conversation with his brother before a roaring fire and over a few drinks would have sufficed. Yet right then, the only thing that came to his mind was a blue darker than the night sky and a smile so honest and warm it could have been the sun itself.

It was thus that on a windy afternoon, behind fogging glasses, Dégel Leblanc was looking at the man sitting across him, unable to decide what to do. There was a longing within him that urged him to tell the other man about the achievement, if only to see him smile and congratulate him, to have his approval, and, just perhaps, to see him glad on behalf of himself. Yet, the idea seemed an utterly foreign notion to him, for he could not answer for himself why the other man should be so. Never before had it occurred to him that trivialities personal to anyone should be a concern of another – it was not that he did not witness others actually doing it, but only that he could never bring himself to understand the sentiment, until it was he himself who could not but had to succumb to the craving for attention as a puppy its master's. More than that, he wanted to invite Kardia to his estate for the masquerade, even though he himself held no interest in the event. What he wanted was to see the other man coming for his sake, in his congratulations, and perhaps to show his family this brilliant man whom he had befriended. It was an irrationality that transcended all that he had ever felt before, for he knew well that the man could not mix in his society, nor will his family approve of someone coming from neither the nobility nor the clergy.

'You seem uneasy. May I know what is bothering you?'

The question startled him out of his doubts. Dégel looked up to see intent blue eyes on himself. There was a questioning look upon his countenance, but there was something else, too, in the downturn of the corners of his mouth and the way his brows drew together ever so slightly. He told himself it was only his own imagination, yet another part of him could not but had hope that it really was concern the other was directing towards him. The mere thought made his heart beat just that fraction faster, yet it was all he needed to release the iron control his will had on his instincts. Sometimes he had to question himself, that why and how the very simplest gesture by that one man could vanquish his will, forged from years of self-discipline and study, yet at that moment, it was the last thing the young man could bring to his mind, too lost was he in his own state of excitement.

'Well, yes. I only want to tell you that I have been offered a professor chair at the university.'

For a short moment, there was a blank, before Kardia's expression morphed into a perfect mask of triumph. A broad grin broke out upon his countenance as his eyes lit up brighter than Dégel had ever seen him; he looked as if it was he himself who had been awarded the place. With a playful click of his fingers and a laugh that resounded within the small space of the café, yet as free as the wings of a bird on a bright spring day: 'That's it! I knew it! Did you remember? On the first day we started talking, I had asked whether you were a professor. Now you are – look, you're going to be a professor now. Ah, what fabulous news; this calls for celebration, Dégel my friend.'

The genuine flood of joy from the other threatened to sweep Dégel away. Along with the intense passion and happiness within the depths of Kardia's eyes, every syllable, every little sound of his laugh only made the the elation within his own heart lift into something impossibly light, as if the whole of his being was surrounded by the sheer warmth that exuded from the other in his childlike delight. With such enthusiasm branded into himself in that moment, Dégel forgot why he was concerned in the first place.

'Indeed. My father has arranged a banquet at the family estate – the Leblanc estate. I was wondering whether you could come and join us.'

His words had an instant effect. Kardia stopped in his track as if struck by lightning. The smile vanished from his face in a split second, an immensely sad look in its place, before he forced a lopsided grin back. There was something very wrong about this latter smile, that he knew, because it was untrue. The look shook him to the core, reminding himself of what he had said in his slip of control. Yet before regret could even start eating at him, the other had already interrupted.

'Perhaps the next time, my dear Dégel, for that is not what I have in mind at the moment. I would not be surprised if you have never been to a proper celebration before. Come now, if you come here tomorrow at nine in the evening, I'll take you to the public house for a real celebration.'

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes at the end of the offer, yet the sadness was still there, lingering somewhere deep within. Kardia's answer was all too clear; it was not 'another time', as he had said, but 'never'. A shudder passed through Dégel's body. He could feel his facial features moving without his meaning to, perhaps to show some emotions he had never been acquainted with – perhaps disappointment, perhaps sorrow – he was unsure, but all the same, he turned his head away, unwilling to let another see his weakness. Yet, a hand placing itself upon his cheek had stopped him before he could look away, and Dégel could but direct his eyes towards the other man whose fingers were gliding against his skin in a non-existent caress. Any attempt at cheerfulness had vanished altogether. His smile was still there, yet it was sad and bitter at the same time, the way his brows drew together and the way his hair casted a shadow over his bright blue eyes.

'Come, do not make that face. You know yourself that what you proposed was a fleeting fancy that was not meant to last. I did not want to say it in order not to hurt your feelings, but someone like me cannot possibly mingle within your society. That you come and meet me like this, and that you would want to hold your celebration with me, should be enough, yes?'

His expression was tender as he said all that, as if Kardia was afraid to hurt him. The hand on his face fell away, even though the warmth stayed, seeping into his heart as from the look he received. Dégel focused his attention on the understanding the other man was giving him, choosing to run away from his own feeling of despondency for the moment, instead trying to reciprocate what the other could offer him, to appreciate him and his consideration, and in turn, to show his gratitude.

'Thank you, Kardia, for everything. I would very much like to hold this celebration with you tomorrow.'

It was thus that they agreed upon the rendezvous. For that night and the next day, Dégel was in a terrible state of excitement and agitation. He could not concentrate on what he was doing, and at times, his heart beat so hard that he fancied he was actually drunk despite not touching a drop of alcohol. After supper that day, he went out an hour before the agreed time. His feet hurried themselves along the well-memorised route. In his excited state, he could not recall having walked there at all. It was as if in the blink of an eye, he was already at the familiar corner, his familiar corner, only that it was not so familiar in the dark, under the flickering light of the lantern hung in front of the café. Shadows were thrown upon the walls he had always remembered to be pure white, and in the faded yellow artificial light, the scene was almost melancholic. Dégel's breath caught in his throat as he saw the outlines of a lone figure leaning against the lamp post, hands in pockets and wild hair pulled back in a low pony tail. The contours of the man's face were accentuated by the shades casted upon his features, and in the yellow light, there was something akin to a sick hue painted upon his normally lively countenance, his lips pale and his eyes darker than night itself. There was something inexplicably lonely and sorrowful about the man, the way his shoulders drooped and his back hunched even as most of his weight was still leaning against the lamp post, that Dégel could not but feel his eyes sting for the first time in a very long while.

'You are very early.'

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Kardia looked up with a crooked smile as he greeted Dégel.

'So says the even earlier one. What time did you come, pray tell?'

'Just a little before you.'

Brushing aside his uneasiness, Dégel came to the other's side. At a closer look, he appeared even more pallid than he first seemed. Under his tan skin, his face was drained of colour, and his lips were starting to turn blue. It was indeed a chilly night out, with the fog starting to draw up and the air humid, the cold seeping into one's bones despite the layers of clothing. Suddenly feeling bold, Dégel lifted his hand to touch the other's face, imitating what Kardia did to him not so long ago, on a crisp autumn morning, yet equally tenderly.

'You face feels like ice. Pray do not lie, Kardia. For how long have you been waiting?'

Something flashed through the other's eyes, before he straightened out of the shadow while laying a hand upon Dégel's own on his face, slowly drawing it towards his lips. His hand was burning hot against Dégel's own skin, a perfect contrast with the chilled feeling of his complexion. Trapped between the two extremities, the palm of his hand was kissed by a pair of chapped lips, cold yet scalding at the same time, sending tingles of electricity down his spine. An unreadable sensation passed through Kardia's blazing eyes, before Dégel's hand was released and his back was turned, any emotion hidden away in the shadows of the night.

'Come. Tonight you will learn the true meaning of 'celebration', my dear Dégel.'

Still feeling himself burning as the sun, Dégel followed the other man, half-wondering why he was suddenly so straightforward. There was a deeply troubled feeling about him, but try as he might, Dégel could not discern what it was. And so he followed Kardia, through the dark streets lit up in a pale yellow by the few lanterns hung in front of the houses, in the biting kiss of the winter gale. The public house they arrived at was brightly lit, the light penetrating through the frost on the windows to cast a golden hue upon the deserted street outside. Once the old creaking door was thrown open, noises streamed out in a flood – loud laughter, chatting, the sound of gypsy music, glasses clanking, someone's merrymaking; it was as if the whole world had boiled down into that rowdy public house. Dégel did not normally like commotions and crowds; he detested them, in fact; yet, at that moment, he could not but feel his spirit lift. Perhaps it was because of the glimpse of mischief he caught on Kardia's expression, or the laugh he was throwing his acquaintances there, Dégel was not sure, but he was glad to see some mirth back at last in the other man. Then suddenly, his hand was taken, and he was pulled inside to sit at the table nearest to the stage, where a round of flamenco was being performed in the staccato of guitar music, and Dégel forgot why he was worried in the first place. Heat invaded his personal space, followed by the hearty smell of food and alcohol; not the most pleasant smell in the world, but lively all the same. He saw Kardia roughly pulling some men to their table, and told them with an exuberant laugh that Dégel was to become a professor came next spring. The look of genuine amazement and adoration on their faces, their heart-felt laughs and congratulations, the lopsided grin Kardia flashed him, and the cheap beer shoved into his general direction – all of them suddenly made him feel warm inside, because they were different from the formal nod of approval of his father, and the polite conversation over light champagne with his brother Unity. In that moment, Dégel discovered that he, too, had a youthful soul, that which he could never imagine himself having, because he was laughing and accepting the boisterous slaps on the shoulder with grace, feeling more alive than ever. Though he kept refusing, the endless invitations to drink and the cheering from every which direction kept coming, until at some point, he could not remember which, Dégel acquiesced and starting drinking to the sound of loud and wild toasting. At first, he felt some apprehension at being surrounded and at the centre of attention, but then, as his hand was squeezed by a larger and by far warmer hand under the table, and his eyes caught in the proud gaze of blazing sapphire, his shoulders started relaxing, and Dégel found himself enjoying the attention. They were people he had never met, and perhaps his celebration was only an excuse for them to drink and have fun, yet it did not matter to him, because at that particular moment, he was actually feeling that he was only twenty four, and the boundaries all melted away in a non-existent wisp of smoke.

At some point, Kardia found a few of his compatriots, and Greek music started playing. They stood in a line on the stage, with Kardia at the end of the line to the right, linking himself with the next dancer with a handkerchief they both held. They started tapping their feet to the music, invoking a rhythm, before the line started to move as one, their footwork synchronised, and though the steps were basic, there was something impossibly agile about all of them, labour men who were accustomed to heavy work. Suddenly, the music beat faster, and Kardia started to leave the line, showing off skilful twists. As he jumped, the man turned so that his hand touched his feet, and landed immediately after, moving to the rhythm again. Then he started spinning, a triumphant grin on his features, and for a split second, he appeared to fly free of gravity in his mid-air spin, his bound hair flying and his countenance glowing with delight, before landing again, still holding onto the kerchief. Dégel found his breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the display of skill; for how long that was that the dance lasted, his eyes riveted themselves on the god-like man upon the stage, and not for the first time, he wondered if he was the only who could see the Greek gods in their glorious magnificence in that one man whose eyes were darker than night and whose smile brighter than sun. The music slowed, and after an eternity, the dance came to a close. In the wild cheering from the 'audience', Dégel stood up without being able to control himself, because a pair of impossibly blue eyes were directing themselves at him, and he was hopelessly lost in the smile that followed.

'You should not have exerted yourself, Kardia.'

As the dancers descended from the stage, Dégel welcomed the man back to his table with a smile, raising his tankard. Sweat was running down his face, but Kardia had never appeared more handsome, with his boyish grin and life radiating from him as a halo. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowed, yet the mischief never left his features.

'Oh, but you _did_ like it, my dear Dégel. Such triviality cannot be called exertion – it was my congratulations to you.'

'You spoke as though you this is not a regularity for you.'

'Indeed not; I stopped doing the syrtos a long time ago, I'll have you know.'

Then it clicked, as the pieces of a puzzle fitting together. They clanked their tankards, but spoke not another word of the matter, for there were admiring eyes on the both of them as well as a fresh wave of conversations. Much later, Dégel could not recall any time when he had spoken as much or had that much to drink. Above all, he felt light and so very contented, because even as he lost himself to the flow, there was always a solid presence at his side, anchoring him to safety.

Much later into the night, when the light had waned and the crowd had parted, they stumbled out of the public house in a haze. Cold air hit his face, sobering him up after the rounds after rounds of cheap beer. Looking to his side, he saw the other man shuddering at the sudden cold, despite his squaring his shoulders and acting masculine.

'Come, then, I should walk you to the estate. The night streets are dangerous.'

'You are treating me as a damsel. I will be fine. You, on the other hand, are quite drunk. Will you not come back with me? I can have the servants arrange for a guest room.'

'Nonsense; I have been through worse.' Here his eyes softened as he gazed at Dégel, before shaking his head, 'I worry about you, Dégel. Even if you are no damsel, it cannot be helped, for I am not rational. Do not refuse me this offer, because then I shall be stalking you to the threshold of your door, whether you agree to it or not.'

Dégel could only sigh at the stubbornness of the the other man. Yet, somehow, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a discrete smile, one which he was not even certain he had. Silently, they walked the long way to his family's estate, an ocean of stars over their heads and the dance of the night gale their companion.

It took a long time for them to arrive, yet at last, to Dégel's dismay, they were already standing in front of the iron gate. They stood facing each other, not really knowing what to say. In the quiet of the early hours of morning, Dégel could feel himself being pulled into the starry depths of the other's eyes, because they were the only thing he needed to look at in order to see the stars twinkling within. There was something awkward between them, but right then Dégel could not care less, whether it was he who stepped closer or Kardia who raised a hand to gently touch his chilling face. It was soundless, but so very natural, almost irresistible, that they inched closer. Then it happened. Later on, when he would recall the moment, Dégel put it down to their being drunk and not in the best control of their desires, or only that the drinks had served to embolden the both of them, because after so long of dancing around in that nameless courtship, why should it be that particular night? He was certain that something happened that day, though he had no idea what, for Kardia was strange. More affectionate, perhaps. Before he closed his own eyes, Dégel fancied he saw sadness, and so much passion in the other's. The kiss was sweet, much more chaste than he imagined; they lingered for what seemed like an eternity, a pair of chapped lips upon another, softer and smooth as silk, uncertain and painfully bashful. The hand on his cheek shook, before they parted. Something passed between them, a look, a quiver of the skin, quiet moving lips; Dégel was uncertain what it was, but with great care, as if he was afraid to break the moment, he lifted his own hand to thread his fingers into the cascade of midnight coloured hair. Heat was trapped between their bodies despite the biting cold that surrounded them, and as they closed the distance again, Dégel thought he tasted cheap beer, and a lot of blood, but underlying it all, there was something so very hot that reminded him of the Greek summer, white washed walls and the green, green sea in the distance. Without knowing who it was that initiated, their tongues moved against each other in a sensual waltz, slowly, but heatedly, shyly on Dégel's part, and desperately on the other's. His hand in the other's hair tightened into a grip, while his whole body was pulled towards Kardia's by the waist, a strong arm around his back. For however long it was that it lasted, Dégel found himself falling more and more, until he could but melt against the other's flame.

'If this is but a dream conjured up by my alcohol-induced mind, I don't want to wake up come tomorrow.'

When they parted at last, Kardia had buried his head into Dégel's own sea of green hair. His other arm came around his body, tightening in a vice-like grip. They swayed on the spot as one, dancing to the tuneless harmony only they could hear, and it was that crisp autumn morning not so long ago all over again.

'It takes time, but I was afraid.' With difficulty, Dégel opened his mouth to reply, while busy inhaling lungfuls of the musky scent from the other's mane of hair, feeling a tingle travelling down his spine as his knees shook. He, too, found it hard to believe, yet did not dare to question, terrified it all might evaporate if he did then.

'As was I. But if I can hear that you were, then this must be the truth.'

Loosening his embrace, Kardia lifted his face to look at Dégel. The smirk was back upon his countenance again, playful and so very insolent, yet before Dégel had a chance to respond, his lips were again captured in a kiss, this time soft and drawn out as a dream of the flutter of the wings of a butterfly.

''Tis hard to let go.' The look he received afterwards was sad, and as the arms around him fell away, there was a look of utmost restraint in the other's eyes. Dégel let his own arm fall to his side, knowing it was time they parted ways, yet utterly unable to bring himself to break the moment. Cold air rushed up to envelop him in its icy embrace, and Dégel could already feel a void carving at his chest.

'Will you really not come in for the night?' Dégel knew the look he was sending Kardia's way was almost desperate, his words bold and much too suggestive for this liking, and that his face was almost burning despite the chill, but perhaps the alcohol was still running rampage in his system, for Dégel found himself unable to care. Something bright flashed up in the other's eyes, and Dégel imagined he saw a maelstrom of desire, before Kardia turned, hiding his expression with the fall of his hair. He took Dégel's hand, kissed it, and turned back before answering.

'I do not want you to regret it, Dégel. My control is slipping, and I will very likely embarrass you in front of your family, or worse. Perhaps another day, when I am sober, and you know what you are doing. The devil confound it; perhaps I am leading your life astray, after all…'

With that, Kardia left, never seeing the stunned look he left behind.

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6: Thou shalt not lie with a man

Author's notes: Hello again. I finished my exam some time ago during May, but I was in pain writing this chapter; it literally took a week to plan and another to actually write. Some places were so very difficult, and in the end it turned out not the least bit as intended – a failure, perhaps, but I really did my best trying to bring out everything in the flow. I even made a mistake somewhere along the line, too lost in the flow, and ended up deleting pages… It was really getting me down, and in the end I was just too tired to really try and improve anything other than I already did. Also, even though the law, as mentioned in this chapter, is English, I didn't intend the setting to be in England. It's just a little imaginary town somewhere in continental Europe, so I do hope you forgive me this small detail; I simply couldn't find out the sentence for burglary in 18th century Germany or France or Italy etc. I also apologise for the mention of Antares; I know it's not visible at this time of the year, especially in the northern hemisphere, but I just couldn't resist the temptation. Thank you all for reading and for reviewing. Aynslesa, thank you for the suggestion. So far as possible, I have tried to split the paragraphs, but any further and the flow of my thoughts would be cut, so this is the best I can do. I hope it doesn't stop you from enjoying this story, and thank you for your support. Finally, this is a warning that THERE ARE MATURE CONTENTS IN THIS CHAPTER, so please read at your own discretion. I'm sorry for the long wait; enjoy the story.

The quote from this chapter is from 'A Treatise of Human Nature' (1739) by David Hume.

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**Chapter 6: Thou shalt not lie with a man**

'Monsieur Dégel's looks have not changed over the years… I could almost say I envied the way his cheekbones developed. Yet only look, he is so detached today.'

'Quite so; one can't help but wonder what is on his mind. But it is for certain that a lot must be in his contemplation; he is a professor now after all.'

'Indeed. I heard it from Madame X that his graduation paper was compared to that of Leibniz at the university!'

The echoes of conversation drifted in his direction, though they slowly diminished as he made his way to the back of the garden. At the last line, Dégel could not help but sigh in exasperation and amusement. Was the only thing the aristocrat capable of mindless gossip without a jot of fact, or a modicum of background knowledge? His paper was on the development and usage of Latin in continental Europe, which, had the lady known who Leibniz was, could not bear anything in common with Leibniz's fields of study. Indeed they both wrote in Latin, but that was quite separate from the matter at hand.

Again he wondered why he had obeyed his father's command to make an appearance at the party, which, in his opinion, was utterly pointless. The extravagance of it all tired him greatly, and the incessant noises of chattering from people he had never met and could not be bothered to remember brought on a dull throbbing at the back of his head. He had endured the evening with relative patience, but when the tenth lady had looked at him meaningfully, complete with a languorous sway of her body when the waltz started, Dégel knew he needed air and space before he did something for which his father would never forgive him. As he discreetly made his way out of the door into the dark garden, the light and noises fading at his back, cold air hit him in a refreshing thrill. The further he went away from the main house, the clearer his head became, yet at the same time, something started pulling at his heartstring the moment he felt free from roving eyes upon his turned back. At last, when he was completely covered by the thick foliage his father seemed to so love, yet was never there to enjoy, Dégel let out a long suffering sigh and loosened the scarf constricting his neck. Looking up at the night sky and taking in the glittering stars as the gems embedded upon the silky black, a particularly bright flash caught his eyes. It was a faraway star, scarlet in colour and glaring in intensity, one that imposed itself upon his retinas despite the distance. It reminded him of someone whose aura was of a similar character, brilliant and imposing. His heart throbbed at the thought. How he wished that particular someone was here tonight, because then perhaps the music would not appear so loud and the looks would not bother him as much anymore.

The first flake of snow landed on his shoulder, followed by a flurry of tiny white dots, pretty and delicate as petals of flowers from the sky. Dégel observed the new snow with fascination. Snow White, Kardia had said. He wondered why the other man would liken him to such delicate beauty; he was a man, and one well-versed in swordsmanship as well as martial arts at that. Perhaps it was true that he was cold, but he was certain the other understood him for what he was, that once he had become attached to something, he would not be able to bring himself to let go without letting go of a part of himself, and his attachment to Kardia, after all those quiet afternoons spent at their little corner, had long gone past the line of fatality. Even the thought of the man, as he was entertaining right then, made his heart ache with longing, quaint though that sounded. Dégel would often berate himself for letting such irrationality taint his purity of logic, yet in the end, all he could do was watch as his emotions played themselves out, powerless to do anything against his passion. As David Hume put it, 'Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions'. Who was he to refute such indubitable truth, then? Dégel touched his lips with hesitant fingers. They had kissed on the night Kardia took him out for a celebration a week ago, and every day after that, when they parted from their private rendezvous. In a twinkling of time, when no one would look, the other man would place a chaste kiss upon his forehead, followed by another, sweet and filled with unspoken longing, upon his mouth. Time would always stop then, in that small moment, before they pulled away, still feeling as if nothing was ever enough. No word was exchanged about the change in status, because none were needed. Or perhaps there was no change in status after all, for Dégel realised then, that what they were what they had always been and what they had always acted like, an old pair of lovers who were destined to never be together. Dégel reflected upon their strange relationship. Even if it was true that they were never meant to be together, he could not help but think that even so, he would rather have a taste of the forbidden fruit and then fall to hell than never be able to touch the other man at all. The thought brought a full-body shudder, yet Dégel could not find it in him to regret that particular conclusion. If there was one thing he would stand up against society for, it was in relation to that one man, and only that man, and of that he was certain.

A sudden movement within the foliage caught his eyes, followed by the light rustling of leaves. Dégel took a step back and held his walking cane at the ready, the handle clicked open, revealing the concealed blade. A distraction from his previous line of thought was very much welcomed, for he was unsure whether he could bear the remainder of that night thinking of that particular man, while being surrounded by light, drinks and dances. Yet what he saw took his breath away and threatened to turn his knees into jam, for looking straight into his eyes and burning with a fervent flame were indeed eyes of mid-night colour, dark, intense, and violently passionate. The new snow suddenly lost its charm as Dégel's attention became riveted upon the eyes he had known for so long and had been imagining only moments ago, now glowing as a predator's in the dark of the night.

Kardia appeared from behind the bush, tall and clad in dark evening clothing, his back straight, his posture regal. Wild mid-night coloured hair was tied back with a scarlet ribbon, the colour contrast almost glowing in the dark. He wore a simple black domino mask, which obscured little of his glinting eyes, but enough to make it difficult for anyone who was not Dégel to recognise him for who he was. Beneath the starry night sky, he stood as a prince, gazing upon Dégel with such a look of unconcealed passion that, in turn, made Dégel feel as if he was the faithful subject of his kingdom of one man, ready to kneel and let himself be at his lord's command, for at that moment, Kardia was more worthy than any prince or noble he had known, himself included. In one long, deliberate stride, Kardia was already in front of him, his eyes unreadable. He reached forward, and Dégel automatically stepped closer, not knowing what he was doing, and let himself drown in the kiss that ensued. It was long and sweet, yet it was also filled to the brim with unfulfilled desires, dreams and wishes, the way the hand on his back crushed him against Kardia's harder body as if wanting to crush flesh and shatter bones, the way his tongue was coaxed into the other man's mouth as if his soul was willing to be sucked out and die in the process, the way half-closed eyes shone with unrestraint want, boring into his own until Dégel could not take the intensity anymore and had to close his own. His sword-cane clicked shut as he wrapped his own arms around the man's shoulders, pulling himself more and more into the embrace, willing himself to mould into one with the other, for he himself had never realised how much he missed the other man, despite their having seen each other every day, as if they really were a pair of lovers from an eternity ago, so that no amount of physical proximity was enough to make up for the lost time not being near. A hand made its way up his back, threading into the fine hair at the nape of his neck, and Dégel felt the breath he was drawing in through his nose stuck inside his throat. A whimper escaped him, and suddenly the grip on him became much stronger, until he could but sag against the body supporting his in a breathless, shivering mass. As he rested his head against Kardia's shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from the man warming up his chilling cheeks, the embrace became still tighter as Kardia buried his nose into his own neck, an occasional shudder passing through their twin bodies.

'Dégel.' The man spoke in a breathless whisper, his voice drifting into the intimate space between them. 'I really should not have come. Yet in the end, I couldn't resist. How foolish, how naïve, don't you think, for a man to think he could attain the unattainable. I tried, Dégel, how hard I did, yet every time I recalled how much you appeared to desire my company today, and my refusal of your earnest request, peace eluded me. Is it only my blind hope, or is it what you truly wanted of me? So you see, even though I was never able to answer that one question, I still donned my best evening attire and came as a fool, knowing all the while I should not have. I knew nothing good awaited me here, yet I kept using your wish as an excuse to come, while knowing at the same time it is my own wish to be here with you, though it would be a disgrace to introduce me to your society.'

'Hush now, Kardia. Let me speak.' Dégel passed a trembling hand through the tied hair while turning to kiss the man's neck in what he hoped was an assuring gesture, 'I have never been good with expressing my wishes, yet with you I would have thought I had made myself obvious enough for anyone to see. I do confirm that I did want you to attend today's banquet, and still do with the whole of my heart. I found it stifling, and too rowdy for my tastes, despite what you may think about the company. Yet with you, perhaps I would have been better disposed to endure through, for then I would not be able to focus on anything other than your presence. See, Kardia, it is only from my selfishness that I wanted you to come. Pray do not make me divulge this egoistic side of mine anymore than I am obliged to; you are the only person I would not want to know of it. As you said, I am the ice. I can neither be warm, nor affectionate towards anyone, yet pray do not misunderstand my intentions towards you, for I have sinned for you, or for my affection for you, if you prefer, and am willing to do so again if you so wish of me.'

Dégel gasped when he felt a pair of chapped lips behind his ears, trailing a burning mark down the side of his exposed neck, taking away his breath along with a beat of his quivering heart. A hand landed on the top of his head, petting him in what seemed like a comforting gesture coming from a child, clumsy, yet with all the good intentions in the world. It made him weak, yet he could feel his resolve strengthening at the same time, to lean against that one man and let himself be comforted.

'I, too, am not good with people. I am a brute. I am rude and angry; I hurt and drive those closest to me away. Recall, will you, the afternoon I almost pushed you away from me from my own weakness of the will, and hurt your feelings. I prided myself on my own resolve, yet with you, I could never will myself to keep away. The day we first talked, I have said that I preferred Snow White, because it would suit you more, and by that I mean not that you are cold, but that you are easier to melt upon contact with another human than your name suggested, for I know for a fact that you are warm inside, even to someone like me. So if you would bear with a brute such as me, I shall melt your snow even though I may taint and hurt you, and make you sin against God for my own sake…'

'And I repeat that I have already sinned by my own will, and shall do so again, over and over, until you accepted me simply as a man who loves. There, I said it, Kardia! Only, pray do not draw from me as you have drawn away from me, and as you keep drawing away from me. What care do I have of the nobility who could do little more than mindless gossip? Well, let them gossip; let them say that I have sinned, and contemptible, and am an impure creature. They shall not take you away from me, unless you yourself are willing. Stay, Kardia. Would you go so far as to have me on my knees and beg, before you would believe my sincerity?'

With that said with such an impatience as he had never felt before, Dégel nuzzled Kardia's face until he would look him in the eye, before placing a chaste kiss upon his lips. He drew away, breaking the embrace between them and tugging at his hand to signal that he wanted Kardia to follow him into the mansion. The cold assaulted his senses, and he was acutely aware that he missed the other man's burning body temperature against himself, yet in his haste to complete what he was determined to do, Dégel paid little heed to that momentary distraction. His mind was focused on only one thing, and so he acted.

The walk back to the mansion was a quiet one, with Kardia moving silently at his side, never truly touching, yet reassuringly proximate. There was a contemplative look in his eyes, his lips pressing together into a thin line, before he exhaled forcefully. A look akin to wrath passed over his features, before an almost imperceptible change took place. His walk seemed more refined, his head held higher, almost at a condescending angle, his back still straight, yet a practiced grace was added to its soldier-like rigidity, so that in only a blink of an eye, he appeared almost to blend into his surroundings as one of the many nobles, striking in appearance and natural in mannerism and grace. Yet at the same time, Dégel could not but notice that the man stood out, tall and proud, apart from any other petty noble huddling in little groups, chatting away their time in the masquerade. The blend of his wild streak and his aristocratic air was almost addicting, and Dégel knew why the man would deliberately put on a true mask under his half-mask as they approached the house even when he seemed to have no care for the aristocrat whatsoever – nay, he even appeared to detest that kind of affected drama. It touched him as a considerate gesture, yet, at the same time, an uneasy feeling settled in at the change in the presence of the other man, as if someone completely different was wearing the skin of the Kardia he had always known. Though, it was not the time for such petty worry, and so Dégel would not let Kardia's concern materialise, mush as he wished to show off the illustrious man as his friend, whom the mediocrity could never hope to match.

They took the door leading straight to the back staircase to the living quarter, bypassing the grand hall and the grandeur of the banquet altogether. Dégel received a raised eyebrow, before Kardia turned to look behind him with a look of wonderment and narrowed eyes, as if he was seeking someone from the empty garden. It lasted only a second, though, before he turned to follow Dégel into the house without comment. As they made their way towards the staircase, in the glaring light of the dozens of candles along the corridor, Dégel became aware of how prince-like Kardia appeared, in his dark outfit and the domino mask that left his proud nose and strong jaw line visible, in the regal way he held himself, and in the dominating presence he exuded by nature. Yet, all of it made Dégel uneasy; it was as if he was torn between admiration for the man and the desire to shield him from the sinister yet subtle world of the aristocrat, as he had been seeking to do by deliberately avoiding the banquet hall. He knew very well that Kardia was a man who needed no protection from anything, yet he also knew for a fact that the man walking beside him was a candid and straight-forward man whom he would hate to let into the true vicious world in which he himself lived, filled with lies, deceit, and worthless values. If only in order to be able to have Kardia openly in his house as a guest he valued, without having to endure seeing him become the object of their mediocre curiosity, Dégel was ready to remove them all from his estate, to block and bar every single door and window, so that no one with that particular twisted interest could take a peek at _his_ man, one who was promised to him and only him. Or perhaps it was him who haboured the twisted interest, looking up to Kardia as his personal sun, becoming jealous of the most innocent onlooker; yet, after what transpired only moments ago, with him determining that he would be the selfish one and keep his sun close regardless of the consequences, suddenly his heart became free of any lingering doubt. He would bar the upper society away if he had to, but for the moment, the heavy door of his bedchamber would have to suffice.

The corridor of his living quarter was deserted, the servants directed to serve in the masquerade downstairs, so that the only ones present were Dégel and Kardia. The man had been quiet since the walk back from the garden, a thoughtful look upon his countenance, but when the slow melody wafted through the door, tainted by the various noises of conversation and laughter of the crowd, Dégel could not miss the brief look of pure contempt Kardia had casted around; it was not the look of congealed ice he himself had mastered, but one from the depths of hell, with flame burning high within, threatening to consume all in a fury fit for the purgatory itself. That strange situation stretched for a fleeting moment, before eyes darker than night were directed on himself again in an unwavering stare, as if Kardia was trying to read into his very soul. It was unnerving, yet at the same time, it had been satisfying to know whatever negative emotion that Kardia had haboured right then could not detract the man from himself, and that had been enough for him.

They stood before the foreboding door in silence, Dégel's hand hovering over the handle in limbo. It stayed, then shook, before he steeled himself and pushed on. The handle was turned, yet before the door was pushed open, a hand on his arm had stopped him where he was.

'Do not let me lead your life astray.'

As Kardia said that, those eyes he adored bore into his own, pinning him on the spot, and for a moment, Dégel almost forgot what he was going to do. Yet, the repeated words that had stunned him before now struck as a flint for his anger. It was a sense of half indignation, half disbelief that after all was said and done, Kardia would still not believe his resolve. Was it his aversion to the nobility, or his concern for Dégel himself, he knew not, yet in that particular moment, it had felt like an insult that cut deeply, because he could see, too, that in Kardia's eyes, there was such undisguised desire as he had never seen before, one that made him blush furiously and feeling as if the ground had been taken from underneath his feet. In the end, though, he was a selfish creature, and to the man full of contradictions before him, Dégel had determined that there was no room for doubt anymore.

Gripping onto the hand on his arm with bruising force, Dégel pulled Kardia through the opened door into his room, before locking it. He placed his hands on the man's shoulder, and with a hard look that could well have been a glare, pinned him in place.

'I remember, at about this time last week, you have told me the same thing. Well, Kardia, am I merely another noble to you, for you to think you are leading my life astray, when all that you have been doing is show me kindness, or, even if I'm deluding myself, love? So tell me, do you think so little of me that you think _this_ is your leading my life astray? Pray tell, have I not shown you enough that I adore you to the point of fatality, so that though I cannot ameliorate your pain, I am willing to suffer with you through an eternity in hell? How many times we have touched now, and still can you not see I crave the contact of your skin? Or, perhaps, you think me cold and incapable of love, as _they _do, that there is no sense in coming closer? Or, if it's because of me not acting perverse and pushing you away, that I am loose and my behaviour light? But if neither of those things, then accept my passion, and pledge yourself to me, and in turn, let me to you! Care not for virtues, sins, and the such; pray, do not belittle me so; what I have sought, I shall endure.'

There was a blank at first, as Kardia gazed at him, as if he was in a daze. Then, suddenly, and almost violently, Dégel was yanked forward by a hand on his face and another at the small of his back. There was harsh breathing upon his cheek, and directly before his eyes were burning blue eyes, serious, and at the same time, delirious from the maelstrom of emotions swirling within. A trembling hand brushed his cheek, and clinging to his forehead were strands of midnight-coloured hair, their locks mixing together as did their feelings.

'Then I shall take what you have to offer, Dégel my dear, for I have longed for you for much longer than you have ever been aware, and shall not hold myself back now, now that you have confirmed that I will not hurt you by being near to you. And thus I shall repeat to you, take it, then, all of it for a blue rose.'

They kissed, once, full of urgency, frustration, unfulfilled desires; twice, for longing, silent promises, apologies, forgiveness; and thrice, filled to the brim with tenderness, need, unconcealed yearning. It was an unspoken confession, quiet acceptance, indifference to the consequences. Hands started roaming, up and down the planes of a broad back, taking off the ties on flowing teal-coloured hair, sheepishly skirting the side of a corded neck, passing over one's fair cheek to tuck a stray lock behind a colouring ear. The flutter of thick lashes upon snow-white cheeks was captured in eyes dark with ardour, and chapped lips moved over satiny skin to nibble on a quivering ear, now pink with both want and embarrassment. At some point during the haze, they had moved over to the long sofa, so that with only the tiniest of tipping of the balance, one collapsed upon another onto it, still tangled in limbs and locks of hair. A dark coat, embroidered in gold threads and pinned with the proud coat of arms of a noble family, fell unceremoniously onto the floor with a muffled noise, followed by another, black in its entirety, stronger in make, yet equally elegant in cut. White scarves fell upon the armrest, before a collar was opened, the chemise exposed. A callused hand found its way underneath the silk, smoothing over white skin in butterfly-light touches. The cords in the swan-like neck jumped as one swallowed, the gasp smothered by another kiss, drawn out in a desperate dance. Tongues moved against each other, frantic and languorous all at once; flavours were exchanged, again and again, until it became impossible to tell where one began and the other ended, the tastes of the new snow, of the summer heat, of very old whiskey, and of residue blood mixing together in an intoxicating liqueur that threatened to overwhelm the both of them, yet so that neither could pull away even if they had wanted to. Breaths mingled in one exhale, legs draped over legs, bodies glued together, arms circling the other's back in a bone-crushing embrace, they moved together as one even as the masks and barriers, one by one, were removed, until there was nothing left between them but themselves.

'Well now,' parting from the kiss with difficulty, eyes still half-lidded with pleasure, Dégel had to dig his fingers into the fine ridges of shoulders before him to steel himself, 'I shall ask again, though it pains me to have to ask, must you have me on my knees before you would accept all of me, or have you believed that I shall, here, now, commit this sin with my heart at peace, because I have loved?'

The man under him stilled, and no other word was exchanged, but the silence had been more than enough, for gazing directly at him were eyes suddenly full of sorrow, but also of incomparable joy, ones that poured warmth directly into the void of his chest, to fill up his heart to the brim with corresponding delight. The breath was taken away from him as a gentle smile appeared, more genuine than he had ever seen and brighter than the sun on a light summer day, and in the dark, under the flickering light of a thousand stars from the window, the sight had been more beautiful than the most perfect scenery in the world. With a jolt, he became suddenly painfully aware of himself, and a rush of embarrassment brought in a wave of light-headedness, so that even as he swayed on the spot, a sense of delirium started to creep up in the form of a scarlet blush high on his cheeks. He could feel the corded muscles in the burning body underneath him move as a warm hand reached round to steady his back. The smile became only a tad bit teasing, and Dégel found himself being lowered onto the sofa, the rough texture of the fabric causing tiny bouts of shiver to run over his over-sensitive skin. Wordlessly, every inch of skin upon his body was worshipped in a silent prayer, mouth and hands moving, caressing, claiming, marking, and Dégel was drowned in a sea of lust, his body reduced to a shivering mass that would not obey. At some point during his mindless float, Dégel vaguely registered pain in a place he never even realised existed, one that brought a furious blush to his face that spread down his neck. There were soft whimpering noises, lilting in unnamed melodies, drifting in and out of his consciousness, until a dark chuckle awoken him to the fact that it was he himself who was making the noises, and the blush returned with a shade that resembled a rose upon the snowy ground. Dégel closed his eyes and turned his head away, hoping to hide his blush away from the man hovering directly above. Another quiet chuckle was heard immediately above his ear, and suddenly the pain intensified, though the moan was stuck in his throat at a look from eyes darker than night gazing into his very soul. Then the breathing upon his neck became that much harsher, the sound choked, and in that instant Dégel realised that yet again, he was being spoilt by Kardia, his excessive shyness spared from the trial to which it should have been subject. Concern and irritation warred within his mind, before determination settled in as dominant. Dégel gently pushed the man on his chest to let up, took both of Kardia's hands and kissed them by the palm, the back and on each knuckle with reverent care. Holding them against his own body with one hand, he used the other to reach around, rubbing comforting circles on the now panting man's back, over and over, until his breathing slowed, all the while looking straight into his eyes, his gaze unlowered, as if trying to pour all of his determination into that one single look. When the only sounds in the room became those of controlled breathing, with all the care in the world, Dégel reversed their position, pulling the man up with him as he straddled his lap. The eye contact between them never broke, and the lack of words made it that much more intense, so that when Dégel lowered himself onto his lover, the wind was knocked out of the both of them as a physical attack. Arms wrapped themselves around his back, fingers threading into the swaying fall of hair, as chapped lips pressed kiss after kiss upon the thrumming pulse of his throat, and Dégel knew he was home.

They made love, slow and sweet and long, skin upon skin, lips upon lips, their hair mingled and their eyes never leaving each other's. In the void of the night, their voices rang like prayers, softly and then harshly, and they stopped, and breathed, and then the waltz would begin again, over and over, until they both reached their crest after their reunion of an eternity. Kardia would gasp for air, and Dégel would blow into his mouth whatever air he had, as he would a drowning man, but deep down, they both knew that the one truly drowning was Dégel himself, and as he drowned, he was beyond salvation. At some point neither knew which, the world turned white about them; they fell and they fell; there was simply no stopping point for them, they who willingly sinned, but who, for the duration of which, knew they had found heaven. For however long that it lasted, the sin had tasted like bliss for the two men.

In the aftermath, as they sat tangled in each other, legs draped over legs, bodies glued together, Dégel nuzzled his face into the crook of the other man's neck, feeling very much like a contented cat after its dish of cream. A burning hand petted his bare thigh, strong chin rested upon the crown of his head, and an occasional contented sigh was heard in the dead of the night. Suddenly feeling mischievous, Dégel tried pressing a butterfly kiss into the hollow of the bronzed neck, before raining touches light as feather over his collar bone, tasting sweat and musk and something that resembled sunlight. At the touch, the hand on his thigh clamped down, before moving to pet the back of his head, much like it had done earlier that night, only with more ease, as though Kardia had become used to the practice. A throaty chuckle was heard, and in a voice so low it blended into the darkness of the room:

'If thou continuest, I shan't be able to go back tonight, thy minx.'

The tone was teasing, yet the blue eyes that were gazing down at him, once again darkened to a deep shade of sapphire, were serious. Pain stabbed his heart, and Dégel frowned, yet he knew better than to covet for more than his good fortune permitted. Once and it should have been enough for an eternity of waiting; the night was still young, yet it was foolish to hope for the the whole of the night to themselves, just as it was foolish to test the grace of heavens. Nonetheless, despite the knowledge, despite his rationality, Dégel wanted nothing more than to cling to his personal piece of heaven and never let go, to bask in his warmth and to bear the pain together, for when he felt, he felt more than anyone never would, and now to separate after tasting the forbidden fruit would be to send him into the million year exile; it was as if a piece of himself was being taken away.

'Don't be so upset, Dégel, for I am not going to disappear from your life forever, and this is absolutely not farewell. We shall see each other again, tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, as we have promised. So what does it matter if the night is not ours? We have the afternoons, and if you would allow me, many nights afterwards. This is only the beginning, no?'

The voice he had come to love woke him from his dark thoughts, and as though under a spell, the few simple words lifted the shadow from his mind. Hope raised his spirit, and Dégel wondered since when he had become so easily affected by that one man, his deepest emotions swayed by only a few words. Lifting his face, he granted the other man a small genuine smile, before pushing away to stand up, his hand trailing a line across golden skin, loving the way hard muscles jumped beneath the tips of his fingers. Though a look of sudden loss flitted across dark eyes, Dégel chose not to acknowledge it, and let Kardia have the last word on the matter, feeling content just to know that he was not the only one.

They dressed in silence, stealing caresses whenever they could, as if no amount of physical contact could quench the thirst for proximity, once they have learnt what closeness was like. Seeing the mask was crooked as Kardia placed it back over his eyes, Dégel smiled, and before he knew what he was doing, reached up to right it. His hand was caught in a larger one, and pressed against the rough skin of Kardia's cheek. They stood as statues, grief suffusing into the air around them, before being broken by a gentle smile; after all, they still had forever to look forward to, in the form of the bright afternoons at their little white café, surrounded by light and wind and aroma.

They inched closer for the last kiss, but a knock on the door came as a thunder in Dégel's ears at the last instant. He pushed away, panic settling in wave after wave, for he could not let his family see the man in his room at any cost.

'Shush, Dégel. I must go now through the balcony, but I shall wait for you tomorrow at the café. Worry not, for I have done this before – this small trick poses me no danger. Only, join the banquet, but let no one catch your eyes. For now, go; I shall wait for you tomorrow.'

The kiss was almost non-existent, a mere hasty brush of the lips that left much wanting, before the dark mane of hair disappeared down his balcony. Concern seized his heart, yet Dégel knew better than to go after the man when there was still someone waiting on the other side of the door, who was probably getting suspicious of the whole situation. Thus quenching his fear, he went to open the door, only to see one of the servants standing there looking nervous.

'The young master Unity told me to look for you, sir. He was concerned that you were not at the party, and that perhaps you were not feeling your best.'

The young man squirmed at the cold stare he received, before Dégel turned.

'Then you may tell Unity that I am indeed feeling a little faint, and am resting for a bit. But do tell him not to worry himself over me; I shall be back in a moment; my headache is already improving, and the night is still young.'

With that, he closed the door and leaned against it, before bolting through the open door for the balcony. A draught wafted in, blowing with it the light curtains, which billowed in flickering ominous shades. For no reason at all, Dégel felt the chill creeping down his spine, dropping into the pit of his stomach as he gazed at the darkness spanning between the house and the woods nearby. A feeling of foreboding overcame him as he tried to make out the outline of a broad back somewhere in the shadows, but failed. There he stood, his hand gripping the handrail, his feet glued to the ground, utterly refusing to move, for how long no one knew. The sense of despair was one he was accustomed to, even as his senses became sharper, his skin tingling with the night chill, his vision piercing, and his hearing picking up the sound of music and chatter from the masquerade downstairs. There was a vague thought in his mind, one that he could not grasp, tried as he might. It weighed him down, keeping him immobile on the spot even as his eyes frantically searched for anything moving in the distance. It became hard to breathe, but still Dégel strained his eyes, until a loud noise jolted him out of the trance in which he had been captured. His heart missed a beat the moment he realised what the noise was; it was a gunshot, somewhere near the point where the woods ended and the road back to town began, one that seemed to have torn a hole in his heart by the way it made him stagger back in absolute terror.

Dégel could feel the blood draining from his face as he rushed out of the room in a limp, his back smarting and his knees weak, but which, at the moment, he could not spare half a mind for. Down the stairs, into the garden, he could see several men running in the direction of the shot, all bearing arms, and one running towards himself. The man was his brother.

'What happened?'

'It seems a burglar was sighted in the woods. Thank the heavens you are alright; since you disappeared I had thought it could perhaps be you.'

'I am well. But the… intruder! Where is he now? Is he seen?'

'I know not, but I am thinking to go and see for myself.' Unity paused to really look at his brother, before he frowned. Taking a hold of Dégel's arm to prevent him from going there directly, he spoke with grave concern – 'You are very pale, and your lips are almost blue. Pray do not go! You must rest here. I shall bring the thief back shortly.'

'No! I can go with you; release me, Unity! I must go and see what happened there!'

There was a pause, during which the two brothers glared at each other, Dégel with a terrible anger he knew not where from, and Unity with utter surprise, followed by indignation. Finally, with an incredulous look, Unity dropped the hand holding his brother in place. He turned and started towards the woods, his eyes dark, the irises glinting as quicksilver in the shadow.

'Very well, then. Though I must warn you, brother, do not display your interest in such a criminal so obviously. Burglary at night is a non-clergyable felony punishable by death by hanging, if the criminal has not been shot dead yet, though that too is old information for you.'

In his shock at hearing the last sentence, Dégel had missed the discrete smile his brother hid away with the shade of the night. For the briefest of moment, icy blue eyes flashed with pure hatred, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace, before it tugged up at the corner into a cruel smile. Dégel, on the other hand, was left in a state of utter confusion even as he made his way towards the scene, his mind numb from fear and concern. Being the master of self-control as he was, in the end, he could not stop the occasional bouts of tremble that wracked his whole body. The sense of despair intensified with each step he took, until it became a beast gnawing at his heart from the inside. It hurt, yet at the same time, he could not stop moving, as if pulled forward by a supernatural force he could not resist, for in the end, there was no other choice but to move. Dégel became a spectator in his body, witnessing himself going forward, step by heavy step, while wallowing in indescribable agony inside. He was drowning again, only in a different kind of emotion, tinged with terror at the possibility of seeing the corpse of the man he loved and what seemed like despondency about everything else.

It was thus that Dégel moved into the dark woods, following the silvery streak of his brother's lustrous hair, submerged in dead silence.


	7. Chapter 7: Hero

Author's note: Thank you all who have read and replied; your enjoyment and encouragement mean a lot to me, and when I say that I mean it. Now I would like to make one thing clear, because it seems I haven't done this before: At the end of this story someone is going to DIE. There, and I'm very sorry if there are people coming here looking for a very happy ending; it's a homosexual relationship in 18th century settings; the possibilities of them living happily ever after is not legion, you know. Well, it's not particularly tragic in my opinion, but I genuinely am sorry to upset any of you, though it does in some sense make me happy that my story moves people; I guess there's a sadist lurking somewhere deep in me, after all. Finally, my world history knowledge is zip, and all references to history within this chapter came from the magnificent wikipedia. If you should find fault with it, I beg your pardon. Otherwise, enjoy the show.

P.S: By the way, did anyone notice the joke in this chapter? I'm totally unrepentant about it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 7: Hero**

Sunlight shone through the dull windows in weak rays, illuminating dancing spots on the equally dull ground. One could see the particles of dust floating aimlessly in the rays, before diffusing into the dark of the room. Outside, frost clung to the glass pane of the windows, despite the rare appearance of the sun during the winter season in the little grey town, in the light of which the thick layer of snow on the ground was glittering. That, however, had no effect on the dark room, which seemed to almost constitute a world of its own within the white of its surroundings. There was no candle lit within, and though it was clean, the room itself could only have been described as Spartan with scarcely any furniture at all. All that there were, were a wooden bed that creaked every time someone moved, a small wardrobe, a writing desk, which was bare, and a wooden chair. There was no personal trace within the whole of the room, not a painting, nor any decoration, nor even a letter upon the desk, as if for a very long time there had been no occupant there, if not for the lack of dust upon the scarce furniture.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and Dégel sat, not within the light of the white, white café, nor in the warm aroma of coffee inside, but in that small room barely with any furniture, upon the lone chair pulled next to the bed. It was cold inside, perhaps even more than the gale that occasionally snuck in through the crack in the door, which also creaked every now and then. The young man remained deep in thought, his hand absently threading into the mane of midnight-coloured hair spread out into a halo on the pillow, flowing from the one lying unconscious upon the bed, but which gave him an almost ethereal quality, reflecting the weak light from the window in blinding flashes with even the least of turning of the man. He was covered in a white blanket, clean, but bland, which blended into the state of the room – his, of course. Everything inside the room was still, as was Dégel himself; it was as if the whole space was plunge into a pause in time, only one different from those Dégel himself had been used to in the past until then, for there was something pregnant in the air, as if it was a sign of something terrible yet to come. Dégel pondered the thought for a while, before deciding it was not worth pursuing; in his current state Dégel had no means of deciphering the messages, if they really did exist, for there was no clear data for any deduction he might have engaged in. Kardia, on the other hand, had been involved in circumstances seemingly utterly separate from and irrelevant to each other in the past two days, and there was no reason to suspect foul play except for the incident at the Leblanc estate the day before, at the banquet.

Dégel grimaced at the thought. Even then he could recall the vivid sensation of ice sliding down his spine during those heart-stopping moments, from when he had heard the gunshot to the point when he arrived at the edge of the woods, breathless and shaky with terror. Apparently, the shot had missed, for there was no blood trail on the ground, and no sign of any struggle. A guard had reported that he had sighted someone leaping over the fences and had opened fire, thinking it was a burglar, but even as they scoured the area, there was nothing to indicate any disruption within the vicinity. Nothing had been lost at the party either, apart from a lady who could not find her ostrich feather fan, but that was a triviality not worth mentioning. When questioned about the appearance of the intruder, said guard had shrugged, stating that it was too dark to even see the silhouette of somebody, let alone facial features, before saluting the nobles to return to his duties, not forgetting to mumble something about 'meddlesome nobles who couldn't mind their own business'. The crowd parted soon after that, having found nothing to raise any further alarm. They could not even begin to imagine the relief Dégel had felt. Had they paid attention, perhaps someone with a sharp eye could have noticed the violent shudders threatening to make him keel over, as if he had lost all strength. Indeed, thanks to the darkness of the woods at night, Dégel was safe from questioning eyes, or if someone had noticed, they had wisely kept the observation to themselves. The relief at learning that his lover had most likely escaped unscathed was so great that, after having made his way back to the mansion, though he knew not how, Dégel had immediately excused himself from the remainder of the party, only to collapse upon his bed in an exhausted heap. Though occasional shivers still ran up and down his body, he felt as if something crushing had been lifted off his chest. It suddenly became easier to breathe, and the urge to laugh out loud was almost impossible to contain. Though, after a moment or two, concern for Kardia returned to plague his mind. Did he get home safely? Did he exert himself on the way to escape pursuit? Or did he stay within the woods to wait for his chance, when the crowd had dispersed? The various question flitted through his mind, though it was the last that made Dégel the most uneasy. He turned in his bed, pressing his ear against the mattress. The noises from the party downstairs wafted into his ears in a muffled rumbling, and Dégel frowned and turned again on his back. Sudden sharp pain reminded him of the events of that night, and Dégel blushed a brilliant shade of red in the night, infinitely glad that no one saw it. It was thus that the night passed, with Dégel spending his time alternating between one state and another. One minute he would close his eyes, and the vision of his lover falling at the side of an unnamed street would appear in stark details despite the darkness. He fancied he could see the blood dripping from pale lips, and hear the wet coughs that rang as the sigh of a dying man. Dégel would bolt upright then, feeling his face drenched in cold sweat, before realising it had only been a bad nightmare. He would lie down again, attempting to find sleep, when the pain registered, and he would recalled bliss for a short moment, which reminded him again of his lover, and his concern, and that, in turn, would slip into his sleep unnoticed. The next morning Dégel had woken up late, having only had a few hours of actual rest. He had dressed hastily, intending to go visit Kardia directly, but to his utter dismay and bewilderment, as he made his way through the dining hall, his father, who had never been there, was, in fact, there, having to seemingly materialise out of thin air. That fact, if nothing else, had forced Dégel to sit down and have breakfast. It was an unpleasant affair, to sit directly across his father, whom he rarely saw in the morning due to his own early schedules at the university. His brother Unity was sitting some way at the other end of the table, a peculiar look upon his countenance. There was something very strange about his brother that morning, though Dégel could not exactly spell out which, yet there was certainly a contemplative air surrounding him. At times, he would grab his knife convulsively, his pale eyebrows scrunched together in a violent expression, before realising what he was doing and released it with almost mechanical stiffness. Dégel noted the gesture down for later questioning. However, right then, the most pressing matter was with his father, who wore a look of profound displeasure. True to Dégel's regretful expectation, he had hardly raised his morning cup of tea to his lips when the baron Leblanc launched into an impressive lecture on good etiquette and manners, and how could the eldest son of the Leblanc estate, the heir, leave in the middle of the party held especially in his name like that, and oh, what would become of the estate then, and alas, must he go and disgrace his own father in such a blatant manner, etc. etc. For the most part, Dégel had been successful in blocking out the buzz in his ears by silently reciting his favourite verse of the Odyssey, but overall, it had been thoroughly unpleasant for him. Finally, when his father had stopped for breath, with as amicable an air as he could assume, Dégel apologised for his lack of manner the night before. He thanked his father again for what he had done for his son out of love, but also resolutely confirmed to his father that he had no interest in becoming the heir to the Leblanc estate, at least at the moment, but shall complete his duties as were required of him from that day onwards, so he should have no worries about his son's or the estate's future. Having said that to the utmost astonishment of his father, Dégel turned to Unity to apologise for his rude behaviour the night before, receiving an absent nod in acknowledgement, which was odd in itself, before excusing himself from the table. The baron Leblanc looked as though he had something more he wanted to add, but thought better of it and pursed his lips together, a morose look descending upon his brows. Dégel noticed it, too, and promised himself he would explain his resolution to his father in clearer terms later that night, when he had finished with his business, for he understood that his father really did love his sons, but his only expression of it were stern criticism and paternalism, seeking to establish for his sons their settled futures with an almost obsessive determination, if not by direct means, then by cunning through which they could but fall into as mice into traps, which only served to push him away from those he loved. But that, too, was for another time. By the time the thought had finished registering in his mind, Dégel had been at the door, putting on his great coat and dashing out with haste.

It was past noon when he arrived at the turning into the corner, when a dark column of smoke caught his eyes. There were frantic callings in his ears, and Dégel turned to see people pouring out to rush in the direction of the smoke. Unable to help himself, Dégel, too, turned to help, forgetting for the moment what he had come there for. He ran the short distance to the burning house along with the flow of people, thinking of the nearest fire brigade, wondering whether it had been called and if he should be running in that direction instead. However, the next sight had stopped his thought mid-track, for there, in the midst of the people, holding in each arm an unconscious child, and covered in soot from head to toe, was Kardia, the man standing tall in the middle of the bustling circle about him. Behind him, the last of the house was burning down, the flame roaring as hellfire, crimson in the midst of its white surrounding of snow. It was terrifyingly beautiful, the flame that reflected in the eyes of the man; _he _was beautiful, though drenched in soot, for in that particular instant, the whole world had narrowed down to that one man who had risked his life to save others, and everything else dulled compared to the single image of the man who could have been a god. There was no halo or heavenly light upon his head, only the commotion of the people running to and fro, taking the children from him and leading him away from the house to sit, but really, since when did heroes need baroque lighting in order to be revered as such? The breath was caught in his throat as Dégel gazed at the man, before something caught his eyes that made his heart pause in alarm. Kardia was panting hard, his breath wheezing. There was an unfocused look in his eyes for an instant, before, without warning, he collapsed. In that single moment, the chaos spinning about him stopped. Dégel shouted and with and leap and a bound, was at the man's side, holding him up with trembling hands. It vaguely registered that someone was calling Kardia's name, again and again, but the echo was so very far away from him, that he never realised it was he himself who was chanting the name, as if willing to wake the man up by sheer power of the will. But somewhere within his mind, a part of him still retained the rationality that had become part of his psyche, and Dégel knew he had to move Kardia away from the smoke. Thus, with the help of another man, whom he knew not, they moved the unconscious man away from the house and the crowd. There were some trying to follow them, but a glare from Dégel's direction was enough to send them away; the last thing Kardia needed then was another commotion around him. They laid the man onto a bench, before Dégel used his fingers to feel his breath. To his immense relief, there was still a weak flow of air going in and out, but it seemed as if even that weak flow was fading. His heart hammering in his chest, and not knowing what he was doing, Dégel bent down and forced open Kardia's mouth, before blowing into him what air he had. He could feel his chest rising underneath him, and the exhale coming out was a tad bit stronger. Suddenly entertaining hope, Dégel repeated the process again, completely ignoring the eyes upon him. In the back of his mind, ringing like bells over and over were the prayers he had said every morning, for the Lord to protect Kardia, to please please not take his life away, to, if anything, let Dégel himself suffer instead. He did not know for how long he had continued with his resuscitation, but at some point during his black desperation, Dégel noticed a doctor coming towards them and brushed him aside in order to examine the patient. As much as he would have liked to glower at the man for interrupting, at least he still retained the mind to let him help his lover. With cold obedience, he stood up and moved aside, still close enough to see how Kardia was being examined, but far enough not to get in the way, which sent a jolt of pain into his heart, for it was not he who could do anything to help, never him. The few minutes that had passed in pregnant silence seemed like an eternity to Dégel, during which he could clearly hear the panting breaths from Kardia, and the sound of his own pulse thrumming too loud to not be heard by others – he became aware of everything and nothing all at once, as if he was floating around, taking leave of his senses. There was something waiting to burst from his chest, and his hands clenched and unclenched themselves. There was almost a fever burning within him, and Dégel imagined how sweet it would have been for him to really suffer in place of the man gasping for breath before him. That one recurring thought frightened him, yet was the only thing that made sense at the time, and so Dégel clung to it as a drowning man to a buoy, floating in the tumultous sea of feverish thoughts. At long last, the doctor looked up and pronounced that Kardia was well; he was only unconscious because of undue compression on his lungs, but since resuscitation was performed in time, he now needed only to rest. The soot that he inhaled could be dangerous in his frail state, but that could be dealt with later; the peril had finally passed for him. To hear that announcement was like to hear pardon at the last minute, as the convicted who was already a step away from the gallows, and so Dégel stumbled to his knees, trembling all over. He could very well have cried in relief, but somehow his eyes were dry, and the only thing he could have done then, was to thank the doctor, and the Lord, and all those who had helped in bringing Kardia out of that place, over and over, until his voice turned hoarse.

During the haze that followed, Dégel recognised the young woman from the flower stall that Kardia worked in running towards them. He could not very well recall her facial features, but only that she had exuded an air warm and gentle as the spring that somehow managed to calm him down from his senseless state. He heard her saying that Kardia was staying in a room in the orphanage at the back of the church, and offered to lead them there. It was thus that with another nameless face, who helped carrying the man over, they made their way through the snow, which had started falling again, through the little garden at the back of the church, into the orphanage, a tiny structure that was almost completely hidden from view. Then, suddenly, children were everywhere, asking about Kardia's health; certainly they would have clung to the man had they not seen that he was not conscious and was being supported by Dégel and the other man. Big, teary eyes gazed up at Dégel, and in that instant, he forgot that he was irritated at another commotion. He was on the verge of telling the children that Kardia needed quiet rest in his room, and would come out and talk to them later when he woke up, when the young woman took the words from him. With a kindness that resembled the children's mother, she told them to wait until their 'brother' woke up, for he was tired after having rescued the victims, and assured them that their brother was fine; in the mean time, she had every confidence that his good friend, the kind monsieur, would care for him. For a second, Dégel could see concern flitted across her eyes, before she hid it away with her dusk-coloured hair. Pointing towards a small room at the end of the corridor, she herded the children away, leaving Dégel to struggle to move Kardia into his room. He thanked the good-willed helper, and worked to put the man in bed. Taking his handkerchief out, and having helped himself to the water in the kitchen nearby, Dégel methodically wiped away the soot clinging to his lover. The contact made him blush, but right then, all that dominated his mind was worry for Kardia's health, so that even though his hands shook as he moved to loosen Kardia's collar and to take off his waistcoat and his shirt, Dégel pushed ahead, past his excessive timidity, and wiped all the sweat that broke out from the slight fever the man was having. A raw red caught his eyes, and Dégel paid attention to Kardia's hands for the first time. They were slightly burned, the skin turning an unhealthy shade of red. There were blistering in places, but by the looks, the burns were not too severe. Heaving a sigh, Dégel went to find some water that had frozen into ice, and with as much care as he could muster, dabbed it against the burn marks. Kardia, even in his sleep, hissed from the pain, his hand motioning to jerk away, but Dégel tightened his grip on the arm, and held the ice still. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, the tears threatening to overflow. Until the doctor returned to look over his patient again, there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain. His helplessness before the situation stabbed him as a physical wound; Dégel had even thought to get one of the children to call upon the family physician, but however quick they may be, that would still be a while after the nearest doctor could come back from treating the children caught in the fire, and all would come to waste. The burns were probably minor injuries compared to those of the children, but all the same, they hurt Dégel as much as if he himself had been the receiving end. Gently, he took the large hands that had taken his own the night before in a tender cradle, and kissed each fingertip, as if the act could have helped the man in his troubled sleep. He had never wanted to let go, but as he had done all that he could then, Dégel pulled the blanket up around Kardia, and for a long while, sat listening to his slow, but strong breathing, all the while lost in the inner torment that he concocted for himself. If his helplessness was a wound, then prodding at it, irritating it until he felt the need to scratch at his own conscience until he was raw and in pain, was almost a morbid enjoyment for him during the infinity that he waited for the doctor to come back. And when the doctor did come back at long last, he only bandaged up Kardia's hands, promising to visit again in a day, before leaving Dégel to his own devices. The remainder of the afternoon, therefore, had become slow and sweet torture, such as to make Dégel sick to his stomach.

Dégel looked at the room, and for the first time noticed its blandness. The weight of their impossible situation struck him again, this time as something that threatened to crush him with despondency and guilt. Dégel realised, not only that he could not help his lover with his strange ailment, but he could not even help with any aspect of Kardia's difficult life, not his living standard, nor the orphanage that seemed to be his family. He could very well donate to the maintenance of the orphanage, and had indeed been doing so since he had learnt of its existence through Kardia some months ago, but particularly to this man, there was nothing he could do, for it would have been an insult to his pride – this he knew from the man's haunting attitude at his estate only the day before, and would not risk offending it. They could not elope, as with the romantic novels the ladies were so fond of, but were so surreal to the point of nonsense, and Dégel himself could not simply taint the good name of his family, whom he also loved with all his heart. The nobles' gossip he could endure, for these often were more fiction than fact, and the people were always less inclined to believe them anyway; yet to publicise their relationship, to make it into a scandal, would be suicide, and Dégel was determined to prevent that from happening, but that, in turn, would hurt Kardia. How sweet it was, to be a hypocrite, to recognise oneself and such, and to beat oneself over it, yet still pushing on anyway. As he had so clearly pronounced before, let them talk of Dégel himself, for he cared not for his own reputation, yet to separate Dégel Leblanc from the Leblanc barony would be an impossible feat to achieve, even if he were to be disowned by his own father. Their situation was truly static, one weighed down with guilt and responsibility, the other suffering from a love he held dear to his heart, one that was from the beginning accepted by none and condemned by all. For how long would they be able to stay together? They had forever to live, and forever to die, in a single minute within each other's arms, but could the impossible be achieved just like that, so and so? Dégel had long learnt not to look at life through rose-tinted glass. Which reminded him of the incident the day before. However one would look at it, it was strange for someone to have sighted Kardia making away from the estate in the dead of the night, through the woods even. Was it someone in his family who had witnessed them together? The thought dropped into the pit of his stomach as an icicle, suddenly sending chills all over his body. Memories of icy blue eyes glinting in the dark as those of a predator flashed through his mind, and Dégel could feel his heart freezing up in the process. It was foolish to doubt his own brother, but the obsession refused to release him from its grip, despite his previous decision not to ponder the thought any longer. It was thus that Dégel sat, completely still, in the twilight atmosphere of the little room, going round and round in the maze he had constructed for himself and becoming more depressed by the minute.

Suddenly a knock on the door woke him from his trance, and Dégel looked up in time to see the door creaking open with someone leaning upon it, arms folded on his chest in a casual manner.

'Good afternoon, gentleman.'

The man was tall, even taller than Kardia. He had unruly hair of the same colour, sticking up in all directions, and a wolfish grin upon his countenance tinged with sarcasm. He had travelled a long way to visit, it would seem, judging from the white dust covering his coat despite the snow. However, the most striking thing about the man were his eyes, which gave off a defiant aura that was almost insolent, as if challenging everyone about him to contradict him. There was a familiar feel about the man, one that Dégel could not shake off, despite being sure that he had never met such a man before.

'I came all the way from Austria for Christmas, and this is how you greet me, hm Kardia?'

Even as he was addressing the unconscious man on the bed, the stranger's eyes never left Dégel's, which in turn, raised the well-suppressed indignation within him. Looking straight at the man, Dégel replied in a cold voice:

'He is unconscious due to his efforts in rescuing people from a fire earlier, and I hope you do pardon him for that, my good sir. He needs peace and quiet to rest now, so will you not be so good as to return to the main house, where someone will be able to receive you with decent etiquette?'

If possible, the grin widened even more, before a free laugh escaped the man. Then he shook his head, as if to clear his thought, and turned to incline his head in Dégel's general direction.

'Duly noted, much obliged. And pray do not take offence, I have indeed heard from the children, but that was only how we usually greeted each other. And you, my good sir, must be Kardia's good friend to defend him with such fervour; surely you have heard of me from him? I am Manigoldo Feliciano, his childhood brother, to whom he may have referred as "the rascal" or "the bastard".'

To say Dégel was surprised was quite an understatement. So his suspicion had been correct, for the man before him bore a striking resemblance to the sketchy description given him by Kardia. The last he heard from Kardia, Manigoldo was serving in the heavy cavalry of the Austrian militia, having been promoted to the rank of _Oberst_, by reason of his having fought in the Succession War. However, Dégel betrayed none of his surprise in his neutral expression even as he stood up to extend his hand towards the other man – he did not like him, even from the first look.

'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sig. Feliciano. I am Kardia's friend, Dégel Leblanc.'

As they shook hands, a look of disapproval crossed Manigoldo's countenance and remained there, so that when they had parted, a frown had crept onto the corner of his mouth, completely replacing the smirk. The man was not afraid of showing his dislike; he did so with open and candid feelings, in fact.

'You're the successor of the Leblanc barony?'

'Yes.'

'A noble. Hm. I never would have thought Kardia would make friends with the upper class. Apparently, I was wrong. Just as I was wrong the first time.'

'And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, my good sir?'

'Oh, nothing important. If you are a friend of his, I fancy you would have seen his attitude towards the nobility and clergy. Thus, it came as a surprise to us all that he decided to accept Father's orders and joint the Pontifical Swiss Guard at Vatican all those years ago, and now that he had made friends with you, a member of the nobility.'

'He has joint the Swiss Guard, you say?' Dégel was taken aback at the revelation. He looked quickly to the man lying in bed, utterly unable to comprehend the new information. He had only known that Kardia was not a native to the town, but could never imagine that he had had such a past.

Manigoldo raised a dark brow at Dégel's change in expression, before whistling in a shrill tone.

'And he has never told you that, either. Well well. These queer circumstance would certainly raise the question as to your relationship, M. Leblanc.'

Flushing with embarrassment, but stubbornly refusing to show his hurt, Dégel directed one of his colder glares at the other man, who, until that point, had been immune to his aloof demeanor. Standing to his full height, he faced the man with determination, directing his pent-up agony into fury at the convenient outlet who had just arrived.

'I know only that he has a wound in his lungs, which impairs his breathing. He never mentioned the cause of it, probably to spare me the painful details. I would have been very disconcerted otherwise, to learn that such a strong man would be so affected after merely inhaling some smoke.'

For a moment, it was as if there was electricity crackling between them as they glared at each other, neither willing to concede, Manigoldo with his nonchalance backed up by stubbornness, and Dégel with anger palpable in the glaciers within his looks. Finally, with a cluck of his tongue, the man standing at the door directed his eyes towards Kardia, before glancing back at Dégel, who was still glaring at him with heart-felt intensity.

'I will take your word for it, then. Hm. But this idiot hasn't changed over the years, has he? The last time he got shot in the lungs, was when he was shielding the Pope from that damned assassination attempt. Did you know, M. Leblanc, he could have been granted offices and wealth and whatnot with what he had done, but no, he had to refuse it all, and retired with the standard pension, if you could call it even that. And now this. Only look at his disregard for his own life; the fool wants to die in glory, that he does; such romanticism. And I quote, "It matter not whether life is short or long, but only that thou shalt burn to thy full potentials".'

Dégel stood, as if he had been slapped in the face. The words trickled into his ears one by one, but none seemed to register. Slowly, he turned fully to gaze at his lover, who was still lying unconscious. Really, who was it that said a Saint would be distinguished by his halo? Even without one, Dégel knew the one before him truly could only be recognised as such. As he gazed on at the man, Dégel wholly missed the look of pure malice Manigoldo was directing in his direction. It was a look filled with wrath, reproof, and perhaps a little bit of guilt, too, but that one emotion was quickly swamped by the flood of smoldering resentment.

'But what makes him a fool is that he came back here after relieved from duty.' – In a mock contemplative voice, Manigoldo spoke, his eyes following closely the outlines of Dégel's rigid back, - 'Kardia must have told you he was from Greece, did he not? It was a beautiful little village, surrounded by golden wheat fields that stretched to the horizon. Back when we were young, the little rogue really did miss it, his homeland, though he was too proud to tell any of us about it. Why he never returned there, none of us knew, but the fact is that after he left Vatican, the only thing he insisted on doing was to come back here – not that I have anything against it. But, well, this is what he chose, I suppose, though it is quite a shame he never really visited the hometown he loved so dearly in his childhood.'

An incline of the head was the only response he received from Dégel, but Manigoldo continued to smile, delivering the last strike with perfected nonchalance. 'Well now, I should leave him to you for the moment; he does seem to need some rest, and so do you, if I may say so. Only, there is one thing perhaps you should be aware of. Though I suppose we all know of his ailment, the truth is that Kardia has been trying to conceal it from us since he had returned from Vatican. His pride may destroy him one day, but little Sasha, the girl you see working with him at the flower stand, would have liked to think that it was out of concern for us that he, as with you, sought to spare us the details. Well, who am I to argue with that girl? So, M. Leblanc, do please take care not to slip any of this conversation to Kardia when he wakes up. Though I would have liked to suppose him still the little terror that used to run around the town picking up fights, and though you have seen the conditions in which he lives, the man before you truly is, in every sense of the word, a hero; I entreat you, a sensible noble, to pay him his due respect, as you would a hero of your own. Hm?'

With that said, and with a wave of the hand, the man departed in silence, not forgetting to close the door after himself.


	8. Chapter 8: Home is where the heart is

Author's note: Hi all, I'm back. I apologise for the long wait, but at the moment I am incredibly busy with all sorts of work. Rest assured though, for I will not abandon this story, however long it may take. That said, I do hope the quality of it does not decrease; if you feel that it does in fact, do please tell me, and I will give myself a kick in the pants to try harder and harder for the next chapters that I write. Thank you, those who have added me to their watch list, those who faved, those who review, and those who read this story. Finally, I present to you, mostly ladies (and gentlemen):

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**Chapter 8: Home is where the heart is**

An innocuous movement caught Dégel's eyes. It was the lightest of fluttering of the eyelashes, but in the blurring twilight, it was as a ray of light illuminating Dégel's dark depression. He leaned over the lying man, ignoring the unpleasant creaking of his bones from hours of not moving. The windows creaked open ever so slightly, and from somewhere he knew not whence, a spectrum of colours entered, painting the pristine white wall the colour of rainbow. In those flickering dots of light, Dégel could see clearly the trembling of thick lashes, before strong brows furrowed and brilliant blue eyes snapped open. For the briefest of moments, they stared at each other, one hovering above the other, whose eyes were wild yet dead focused on the face before him at the same time. Kardia blinked once, twice, before sighing and reaching up to tuck a strand of teal hair behind Dégel's ear.

'What's wrong? You look like you're about to cry.'

His words were hoarse, breathy like the words of a dying man – which notion brought a terrible wrath into Dégel's mind, but which he brushed aside for the moment – yet the warmth permeated through each of them, slipping in to ease the storm in his mind.

'I do not cry.'

His words were cold, his eyes dry. Yet, imperceptibly, at the very end of his declaration, he could feel his throat clogging up and his voice wavering. He could feel very well that he was starting to breathe heavily, and that his shoulders were starting to shake. The weight of worry that had been taken away from him was too sudden for him to become accustomed to, and despite the relief from burden, Dégel had felt like collapsing into a quivering mass on top of that sick man, to hear his heart still beating and his chest rise and fall as he breathed.

'Of course you don't.'

It was a flat statement, neither sarcastic nor sympathetic, and almost cold in its finality. And yet, there was a hand coming up to the back of his head, pulling him down to rest on top of his lover, exactly as he wished he could have lay down himself, to put his head in the crook of a bronzed neck and feel his eyes sting yet remaining dry all the same, and to let that very same hand pet him slowly, languorously, as if Kardia was trying to calm down a frightened child in the dead of a thunderstorm. Despite the tremors raging through his body, and the thousands of words Dégel wanted to scold Kardia with, he was calming down. It was awkward to support his entire body weight on his head and his forearms on both sides of Kardia alone, but it was comfortable, and for however long that his moment of weakness lasted, it felt secure to have his hair petted and to hear even breathing next to his ear, to know that not yet, not today.

When Dégel had regained his composure at last, he lifted his head to look at Kardia, not even bothering to hide his embarrassment. There was his signature smirk firmly in place upon his countenance, and Kardia seemed almost happy, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

'Well, what happened?'

'What happened is that you saved the children and nearly died.'

'_Someone_ has to save them. You cannot expect to stand by and watch…'

'No I cannot. But nonetheless it frightened me.'

They both fell silent at that. The smirk fell from Kardia's face, its place taken by down turned lips and sad, sad eyes. He cupped Dégel's face with a hand, the burns chaffing against velvety skin, but neither took notice of it. Kardia slowly sat up, all the while bringing his forehead to cling to Dégel's, their bangs mixing and their breath mingling. They stayed still like that for a long while in the pregnant silence, simply feeling the sorrow permeating their relationship, as if wallowing in that shared misfortune. The lights were no longer dancing, and it became dark, and senses became stronger, the touch of a lingering lock of hair, a thumb smoothing over dry eyelashes, breath that smelled like blood and the sun at the same time.

'All men die.' At long last, in a whisper no louder than a sigh of the wind, the words were dropped into the pool of dead silence. Lips trembled, and a hand felt its way into long, cascading locks of hair, roaming over broad shoulders and tensed back.

'I know.' There was hesitation, but the young man swallowed once, twice, before continuing with steel in his voice, 'I know. So let us speak no more of it. There is something else I would like to ask you now.'

'Yes?'

'Sig. Feliciano came back from Austria to visit you earlier today…'

'That rascal Manigoldo?'

'The very same. But stay, speak to him later. I would like to ask something of you first.'

'Anything, my dear Dégel.'

Dégel worried his lips, before running his hands over sharp cheek bones, holding their owner's face in place.

'He told me that you served in Vatican as a Pontifical Guard. He also told me that you loved your hometown very much, that place where you lived before coming to this town. Why, then, did you not return to your home, but here, of all places, after your discharge?'

Their eyes slowly became adjusted to the surrounding darkness, and through it, Dégel finally saw the brief flash of Kardia's blue eyes, before he lowered them, avoiding Dégel's inquiring look. Pulling away, the man let his hand slide down Dégel's cheek, landing softly onto his lap with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet of the room.

'Ah, that,' Came his voice at last, strong and with practiced nonchalance, 'So the bastard delights in the gossips like women do when they have nothing on their hand. Do remind me to welcome him home with a lot of brotherly love later on. But if _you_, Dégel, want to know of that matter, I can tell you with honesty, though you may not, after all, want to know.'

'Is it something you would rather I not know?'

'To tell the truth, no, but it may or may not have a connection with our current relationship, depending on how you look at it. But very well, I will tell you this, that home is where the heart is, and this little town, not that old town in the middle of nowhere in Greece, where the clergy tortured my father to death and burnt my mother at stake for being an accused witch, where the nobles took our land and the envious neighbours spoke of my family as if we were a curse on them, holds my heart.'

At first, Dégel was speechless to hear the pure hatred in Kardia's voice. Then, it became anger, followed by an endless sadness that broke his voice as he replied: 'I am sorry to hear.'

Eyes glinting like those of a predator darted up to observe him, before the vague lines of a smile could be made out in the dark. The hand lying upon Kardia's lap lifted to draw him close, and the man kissed him once, tenderly, letting him feel the smile on his lips.

'I know you are. But that is not all there is to your question. Speak no more of it, and I shall continue with the story you wanted to hear.' He paused, and with a little shuffling, drew Dégel to rest on the headboard more comfortably. He pulled Dégel to rest his head on his shoulder, and resumed the mindless petting he had started before, as though the simple gesture, too, was calming him. 'A long time ago, there was a boy who became an orphan. The house at the hill top, with the lines of green, green poplars leading in, surrounded by golden wheat fields that stretched till the horizons, one that he used to live in, was burnt down. And so he fled. He did everything he could to live, fighting, running errands, stealing, all kinds of things, until one day, when he was taken in by a travelling priest, who was boring as all old men were but who was kind to children like him. He was taken to a new town, far away from his country, and started living in an orphanage at the back of a church.

'The boy, when he was young, liked exploring very much. He knew every street in town as the back of his hand, the alleyways, the rooftops, even the ways through people's houses into and out of courtyards. It soon became boring for him, so one day, he went out of the centre of the town in search of novelty, and found a small woods. It delighted the boy very much, and he started going there every day, after he had finished his chores. He then discovered that the woods led to an estate of a noble family, and that the woods belonged to that family. Well, the boy was stubborn, or as a certain someone in his orphanage liked to say, pig-headed. He wished to defy the rules, to laugh in the face of the danger of being caught, and to enjoy breaking laws laid down by the nobles – believe me, the boy has not changed very much since then in that respect. And so, he continued frequenting the woods, until it, too, became as familiar to him as the yard of his orphanage.

'And here the story starts, you see, for not long after that, the boy encountered something special in the woods that changed his life forever. It was a very beautiful afternoon, and the boy had just finished running an errand for the father. He felt like he deserved a good siesta, and went to the woods to find his favourite tree for his nap. While he was happily threading his way through bushes, he saw movements not far away. But even as he was looking for a nearby bush to hide in, he realised that the one making the movement was neither a servant nor an animal, but a boy not unlike him with his foot stuck in tree roots like a rabbit in a trap. And so the boy approached the other, who was trying to pry himself free in vain.

'"Hallo," the boy said, and the other was started, looking up from where he was with eyes big and watery, but the tears were stubbornly kept from falling, "And what have we here? A noble who is stuck in his own back garden who can't get himself free?" For the other boy _was _a noble.

'"And who are you? You are not authorised to be here, so that makes you a trespasser!" The other boy bit back, and oh, he was a fierce little thing, glaring at the boy with eyes cold as ice, despite having to look up from his position on the ground. But the boy enjoyed the challenged very much, so he crouched down next to the young master, near enough to tease, but not enough to touch.

'"Yes, that would make me a trespasser. But young master, if you cannot free yourself from that, who are you going to tell, eh? When do you think your servants will start looking for you? It's going to hurt, you know, and then maybe you won't be able to walk again by the looks of that."

'"Well, if that is so, so be it. What care do you have whether I walk again or not? What business do you have in our woods?" Said the other boy. He was still trying to pull his foot free even as he said all that, and that must have touched the wound the wrong way, for he suddenly bit his lip very hard, but his expression remained the same, the boy almost thought the other could not move his facial muscles. Anyhow, the noble's prevalence touched the boy's heart, for he had always respected the manly way of doing things, and refusing to succumb to pain was a very manly thing to do. It was thus that he decided that he would help the noble, despite the risks to himself. He told the other boy to be silent, before pulling him free with all his might. It must have hurt a lot, because he had a broken ankle. His face scrunched up in pain, but he refused to even utter a sound, you see.

'"If it hurts so much, why don't you cry or even frown? I don't like wusses who complain about every pinprick, but believe you me I know what it's like to have a broken bone before; wouldn't blame you if you show it." The boy did not like the way he was addressed, but curiosity won over when he saw the lack of expression in the noble boy. However, he got no answer, and when it was clear that he was not going to get any anytime soon, he decided to be the better man and offered the noble his back. The little lord was sceptical at first; he looked at the boy with mistrustful eyes. But the look was ignored, and after a little while, without knowing what made the little lord changed his opinion, the boy felt arms finding their way to circle his neck. It was total silence on their way back to the mansion, yet at last when the boy was busy wondering about the little noble who did not show his expressions, he finally spoke: "If… you do not show pain, then you can control yourself not to feel pain either. And not just physical pain, but all kinds of pain there is."

'It was a ridiculous notion, and so the boy laughed. "You feel what you feel, boy; if you don't, you're either a priest or you're dead." It earned him an irritated huff and a smack on the head, but the boy kept laughing. He was interested in this strange noble, for he had never met anyone before with fanatical thoughts like that. How grand, he thought, would it be to make this boy who did not want to feel start to have emotions of his own. Did the servants of his household try to achieve that? Did the nobles in the neighbourhood try to make that boy laugh with their money and jewelry and fail miserably? But it _would _be grand to see a change in the little stoic lord's expression.

'When they were near the other end of the woods, which led to the plain ground between the woods and the mansion, the boy had no choice but to put the little noble down. He could not risk going further than that, and so they had to part. "Say, will you come back here?" Suddenly, the noble boy asked. His facial muscles were very carefully kept from changing, but the boy noticed a hopeful gleam in those eyes anyway, and it pleased him greatly. But then he had to answer: "Can't say that I will; trespassing is a crime anyway", because he was a sadist from birth. And then he left.'

'And then you left.'

Dégel could feel something sliding down his cheeks, wetting the collar of his shirt in warm trickles. He could very well recall that sunny afternoon, when the birds were singing and the light dancing. He had taken a stroll in the woods after a particularly intensive lesson in Latin, and fallen and gotten his foot stuck in the roots of an old tree, had met, been teased and freed by a strange boy who had mud smearing his face but light in his eyes as he had never seen before. Even then he could not understand what made him trust the stranger to help him, but he did. Perhaps it was because of the overflowing life forcing its way from every pore in that boy, or perhaps it was because of the insolence in a free being who dared to defy everything in the world. People want what they don't have, and that strange boy was everything Dégel had dreamt of coming into his life; that might perhaps explain why he had so trustingly climbed onto a stranger's back. And then, after that abrupt parting, Dégel had been found by a servant not long after that. He had not been able to come out to the woods for the following month or two, and had thought that in all likelihood he was not going to see that strange boy with midnight-coloured hair and eyes that lit up the shade of the sky anymore, the prospect of which made him sad with an inexplicable intensity that almost rent his heart, so when he did come out and did see that boy sleeping on a tree, it was as if he had been granted a gift from the heavens. He could remember the following months, which passed swiftly as the wings of a swallow, filled with the laughter he had thought forgotten, the swaying shades of the trees, the blue sky, and eyes even bluer than that. They had run through the small woods, playing lord and knight, and hide and seek, and all the games that had been absent in his cold, steely childhood till the end of the day, when the strange boy had to return to the town and he to his lonely room. They had never learnt the name of each other, as if it was an unspeakable taboo between them, nor did Dégel say anything to anyone, afraid that if he did, the boy would vanish from his life; it was his little secret, one tucked away in a corner of his mind, but which was closer and warmer even than the time spent with his brother, which he held dear to his heart. Never could Dégel imagine Kardia would be that strange boy who had shared his childhood and brought life to it, which accordingly faded away the moment that boy did; yet, when he thought about it, Kardia seemed not to have changed with the years at all, even if the innocence of their relationship had turned into something else completely different. Perhaps that was why the man had caught his eyes on that first occasion, when all he did was stand amongst the flowers and let his brilliance outshine them all.

'Why did you not tell me?'

'Tell you what, Dégel?'

'When you left for Vatican. Why not? Was it because you did not deem me important enough for you to tell when you were leaving?'

This time, too, he could not even bother to hide the hurt in his voice. For a whole month that lasted for a hundred years, every day every day he came to the woods, but Kardia was not there. Then for the next eleven months that lasted for an eternity, Dégel came and went back, but that strange boy who had been his only companion never returned. The fury for betrayal that had threatened to burn his heart to ashes could only hold out for so long, before it dulled into a throbbing pain, that which he buried away in the deepest recess of his mind, along with a child's sorrows. As with everything that affected him, it never disappeared, like a wound that would scar forever – this time, in the form of congealed ice. And so he lost hope, and closed himself off from the world, until so many years after, the day he had seen another strange man in that little flower shop. And it had hurt, despite how he had been telling himself every day that he would not let the pain get to him, that he would not feel any more for anyone. Oh, but he did, and he opened his heart to a stranger who disappeared from his life, only then to realise that that stranger was now his lover, whose hand was wiping away the tears he did not even know were falling. At that single moment, a thousand feelings were rushing through him; none were clear nor defined, but there was anger, sorrow, delight, relief, and all the emotions that anyone could ever hope to feel, all mixed into a force so strong that the overflowing tears could not be stopped, as a dam that had been broken.

'I… did not want you to be sad. The chances of me returning were almost nil, so better you hate me for the rest of your life than tell you and make you wait forever for me, for I knew even then that you would.' Kardia paused, swallowed, then added in a whisper no louder than a contented sigh, 'When I was discharged, the only thing I could think of was to come back here. I thought I could sneak into your family's woods and see if you would come, but the years have flown and the barrier between us was _that _heavy. I did not want to see you change, to become one of those petty nobles; I loved the pure heart you possessed in my memories too much to risk being disappointed then, or as they like to say, having my heart broken. That was why I stayed in the shop, and coming to the woods every single day at dusk only, to see if you would take a stroll like you did when you were small, but merely to look at you from afar; I had no intention to come talk to you or renew our acquaintances. And then when you came to the café across; do you remember that day? I could not but think it was a gift from God to me, or perhaps not, for you are the apple, and your sweet purity is the serpent that tempted me. It was a miracle, the way you sat with your eyes lowered, the sun crowning you with a halo and the wind playing with your hair, exactly as I remembered you then, when you were small and your eyes clear. That was why I came and began our "first meeting", as you have been led to believe, and which you might have been better off still believing.'

His tears had dried, just as water freezing at the caress of winter, but inside, where his tears were absorbed into softness, it was warm as the summer day so many years before, when their innocent laughter echoed through the woods and they were the only ones that mattered in the world. Through the thick darkness separating them, he could see blue eyes intently on him, as if Kardia was afraid of his reaction. He recalled the words that have been promised him before: _'…for I have longed for you for much longer than you have ever been aware…' _He did not understand them then, for how could he, but now he did, and it brought both pain and joy to his heart, that which threatened to break it, judging from how weak it left him feeling, as with everything in their relationship. To finally understand the depth to which they both have sunken, bound together since what felt like forever by an invisible yet unbreakable thread, was to hurt, to feel light, to want to live and die at the same time, and to let the ice melt and at the same time willing time to congeal into ice. _'I'm sorry I forgot you why didn't you mention this before when we have gotten together how lucky can a man be to deserve your heart God why not take me and leave him be how can I feel without my heart anymore' _A million thoughts flew by, yet in the end, only one remained in his then feeble grasp on reality.

Reaching up to hold Kardia's face in his hands, Dégel stared deep into his lover's eyes, willing himself to drown in them, and Kardia in him. With everything that he had, Dégel responded to the promise made him with a love so deep he could never fully understand, but realised was his to hold for an eternity: 'For you have longed for me for much longer than I have ever been aware, I too, shall for the rest of this life long for you, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…'

'Until death do us part.'

'Until death reunites us again.' He did not wait for the protest from Kardia that he knew was coming, but instead leaned in to seal the vow the way they all did, as lovers did when they purported to bind themselves to each other. Lips touched, then parted, then touched again, lingering, before they closed the final distance, losing themselves in the kiss where teeth clashed and tongues fought for dominance, where passion and tenderness fused together, so that the rhythm slowed into Lethe on which they became drunk in the ancient ritual for bonding. Within the scarce proximity, their heartbeat melted into a single staccato, the underlying beat to their nameless dance not unlike flamenco in its ardour, yet resembling a pas de deux in unity, with one falling in blind trust and the other catching with everything he had. Hands passed into a fall of hair, pressing against a broad chest, caressing a fine cheekbone, clinging onto one's shirt as a desperate man his lifeline, before they found each other and joined together, fitting the gaps between each finger with the other's. And the great vacuum was filled.

As they parted as last, as if awakening from a long dream filled to the brim with music and sunlight, Dégel pressed a single finger to Kardia's lips, before rising to place a chaste kiss upon his forehead as the first kiss of the snow.

'And I shall hear no more of this.'

His hand was caught, trembling fingers pressed against words sighed into the silence: 'And you shall hear no more of this, that I vow.'

The breath held within his throat was exhaled in relief. Dégel could feel a burden lifted from his chest, and suddenly it became easier to breathe and to move. His mood lifted even as he stood from the bed with renewed vigour.

'All very well. Shall I go and tell the children that they may come see you, and Sig. Feliciano that you have a message of overdue brotherly love to deliver?'

That brought a chuckle out of Kardia. With a rustle, he, too, rolled off the bed to stand up beside Dégel. Head cocking to the side, he leaned into the first ray of pale moonlight that penetrated the dull windows, showing his trademark grin to a stunned Dégel.

'You have the best experience in how healthy I am. I shall reassure them myself. Only, will you come here tomorrow at dusk?'

'What for, Kardia?'

'For what we have missed tonight, though you seem too laden with thoughts to notice. There _will_ be a locked door involved; I can assure you of that.'

Even in the dark, Dégel was painfully aware of the heat creeping up his cheeks, which must have been resembling the sun in the colour's intensity. Lightly pushing the man out of the way, and ignoring the full-blown laughter he received, Dégel opened the door to rush out into the chill of the night, welcoming the cold on his burning cheeks, feeling very much like a bashful damsel looking forward to the next rendezvous with her lover for their great runaway.

He stopped in his track when the sounds of running footsteps invaded the space. From the dimly lit corridor leading to the outer courtyard, he could vaguely make out the shadow of a man, followed by a woman with billowing hair.

'Young master Dégel!' The man presently charging through the constricted space was the son of the household's butler.

'Calm yourself.' The cold in his voice returned as naturally as the stern expression he liked to wear, but somewhere, he could sense a foreboding sense of dread at the sight of wild eyes and the ominous silhouette thrown upon the young man's countenance. 'What news do you bring?'

'The master, he… he had a stroke, young master.'

In that instant, all that Dégel could hear was the sound of faraway thunder which was nowhere near his suddenly spinning field of vision. He did not even know whether in fact he had staggered back, whether in fact there was a hand on his back steadying him, or whether in fact said hand had pushed him towards the general direction of the young man. All he remembered, was the absent-minded 'Forgive me, Kardia, for I must go', before his memories drew up the blank that was his journey home.


	9. Chapter 9: Kinds of love

Author's note: Finally! Chapter 9 is here. The first warning is that there will be a lot of angst which might turn just a tad pathological, but nothing damaging so don't worry too much. By the way, the story will turn in that direction (with a few breaks here and there) from now on, just so you know. The second warning is that this chapter will involve some religious implications. These do not necessarily reflect my view. And just to clear up a small confusion, the master of the house is the Baron Leblanc, Dégel's and Unity's father. When I refer to either of the latter, it is usually as 'young master'. As usual, thank you all for reading and reviewing. Star-honey, welcome back. Seafox, you honoured me with your review – know that I am a fan of yours. Kenouki, Ale-chan, Aynslesa, Aletheia and all those who have read and supported me through this time, I am infinitely grateful to you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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**Chapter 9: Kinds of love**

As Dégel rushed along the dark corridor, the candles trembled as the life of his father, one yet faded but merely flickering in the winter gale of age. One foot in front of another, he was unaware for how long he had been running, but still, he ran for the father who had never touched him on the head nor spoke to him in a manner other than formal. It was true, perhaps, that blood ran deeper than the surface, yet now that he was fearing for his father's life, the young man could spare no moment for the thought.

Dégel pushed his way in through the heavy oak door, his eyes momentarily blinded by the several dozens of candles lit. They wavered, then cleared, as the outlines of his brother's lean figure and his lustrous hair appeared from among the light.

'But gently, brother; father is resting. It has been dangerous, but all is well now.'

The dead weight lifted from him was so sudden that Dégel staggered, his back leaning against the closed door. There were a few maids, the trusty butler and the family's physician in the room, the latter tending to his father with a tensed expression. His brother Unity was standing beside the bed, his face haggard yet relief lit his eyes. Upon the bed lay his father, who looked as if he had aged a hundred years in that single day, but who was still breathing; Dégel could see it even from where he stood, and then breathing suddenly became easier. Regaining his breath, the young man approached the bed with silent steps.

'What is his condition?' He turned to address the physician.

'Stable, young master. He needs only to rest now.'

'There is no complication, is there?'

'None has manifested itself yet, but it would be wise to supervise the master for the following week or two. Though, I must warn you in advance that this kind of stroke usually results in paralysis, or partial blindness.'

Dégel's heart squeezed at the indication. It took a moment for him to calm himself, but in the end, as he took a glance at his brother, whose intent eyes were on him and who was shaking his head, the young man knew that though the situation might be dire, not all was lost. Their father survived the stroke, and all that he needed would be provided him. He turned again to the physician:

'And the cause?'

'Old age, the toll of his excessive studies, and the lack of exercise, young master, though I would not tell him in such words. Yet.'

'Much obliged. I thank you for helping my father through this crisis.' Dégel nodded his head in a gesture of gratitude, before motioning for his brother to follow him outside the room, letting their father have his much needed rest.

'Were you with him when he collapsed?' He asked Unity as they walked out the long way he had marched in.

'Thank the Lord that I was, or else his ailment would not have been discovered in time. He became excited during our talk, getting carried away by a new venture of business. Then he suddenly stopped; oh how terrible it was, brother, the way his face ticked, and his eyes widened, staring into nothing as if possessed by the devils, before falling upon the ground. In that moment I had wished you were with me. I was afraid he would not last the night, but the blessed Virgin Mary would see him well yet, which is a relief.'

'Yes, 'tis well. You and I shall take turn watching over him tonight. I apologise for not being home this afternoon.' Guilt started plaguing Dégel's mind, or what remained of it after witnessing his ailing father and hearing of what was to come. He truly was a terrible son, who could not even bring himself to love his own father. Dégel remembered when he was young, how angry he was at his father for introducing another woman into the household, and not before she had born him an illegitimate child, his half-sister Seraphina who was sweet as a rose, and who contained his childish tantrum; how cold he felt when the man visited him during his studies, even the disappointment that welled within him when all he received for earning the doctorate was a formal nod, absent the smile that should have been there. With the years, he grew to understand that in the end, his father did love him, the lofty love that only the nobles were capable of, one that was hard, lacking in warmth and bound in iron constraints. It was the kind of love manifested in high expectations, which was prone to disillusionment, an obsessive determination to arrange his son's life, and ample provision of wealth, which to him held little value. Yet still, it was love, one which despite its simplicity, Dégel himself had never been capable of returning. And still he cared, and worried. It was an odd thing, to feel detached and pressed with concern at the same time. Perhaps it was guilt, though it was equally probable that it was Dégel's own kind of love, reserved only for his father, whom he respected yet never held close.

'…Brother!'

'Yes?' Dégel was almost startled out of his thoughts. As he turned to his brother, he could see the concern in Unity's clear eyes. 'I apologise. You were saying?'

'I was asking where you have been this afternoon. Are you unwell? You have been most… distracted.'

'Indeed. And I apologise for it. I was at a friend's place this afternoon, when the butler's son ran to announce the bad news. And just now I was thinking about what a worthless son I am; truly, I am grateful to have you as my brother; I myself would never have been able to handle all this alone.'

To ease his mind, Dégel directed a small smile towards his brother, who returned in kind, his expression warm and open, before his brows steeled in a deep furrow. Unity laid a hand on his arm, and with a voice more serious than Dégel had ever heard him, told him these words: 'But come to my room, if only for a moment. I have a pressing matter to discuss with you, Dégel.'

'Can it not wait? I planned only to change before returning to father's side.' The abruptness of the request made Dégel uneasy; there was something unreadable in his brother's eyes, which Dégel admittedly had never been able to fully understand. The flash in Unity's icy blue eyes reminded him of wrath, yet the silent concern spoke to his heart. There was something sad and gentle about the gaze his brother was directing at him, yet at the same time, the steel within his stare unnerved him.

'But only for a moment. This discussion is in your best interests, whereas father has good ole' Krest to take care of him.'

Dégel's curiosity was piqued at the latter remark. He nodded his assent, before following his brother towards his study. Into the room, the gloom was palpable on the shadows thrown upon the walls, despite the lit candles. The crackling fire imposed upon his fraying nerves, and the intense heat within threatened to weaken Dégel's controls. It was a secluded space accompanied by volumes upon volumes of leather bound books not so unlike his own study, yet there was something about the place that brought unease to Dégel, as though it was a kind of premonition of something terrible yet to come.

'Come sit by the fire, brother, and we shall talk.'

Dégel did as told, but as he settled into the easy chair, an open volume upon the coffee table caught his eyes.

'The art of dueling, brother? I did not know you have such hobbies.' Dégel raised a brow at Unity, who merely smiled harmlessly as he closed the book and deftly moved it to the side.

'I do, as do we all; the only difference is that mine does not concern association with people below their statures.'

The smile dropped from his countenance, in its place a serious, but gentle expression, yet in that single moment, Dégel could feel his world turning upside down and a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the fire blazing at his side assaulting his senses as a spike to the heart. His heart stopped, and in that split second, he fancied he could see Kardia, his heart, his warmth, his light, his life, broken and bloody on the ground. He knew it was merely his imagination and his fear at the cataclysm caused by his brother's words, but it was all it took for Dégel to lose his calm, dread invading his senses, possessing his mind as despair clutched his consciousness. His eyes unfocused, Dégel looked to his brother, to see a hand extending to hold his own, though he could not even feel the touch, suddenly numb all over.

'Come, pray do not look at me with such eyes, brother, for you frighten me. I did not mean to startle you, of that you should be certain. No, brother, I only mean to have a serious discussion, to speak frankly and without intrigues. Stay, do not speak yet, but let me finish what I have to say,' A hand was held up as Dégel opened and closed his mouth mechanically, 'and we shall see your reasons for this folly that we both know is real. It is difficult for you to follow the heart, oh I know, dear Dégel, how painful it was for you to have loved and lost our sister Seraphina, a pain shared by all in the Leblanc family; yet for this one time I must entreat you, to immediately stop this unspeakable state of things, to severe any and all connections with that commoner. Have you no regard for your family, Dégel? Can you not think how devastated father will be if he finds out? And if the society does? Oh, there will be gossips, which pierce through walls and barriers as no great cannon had ever been capable of. Can you imagine the women laughing as they turn their unreturned affections for you into hatred, and their jealousy into venom? "But I have never imagined the young Baron Leblanc to be capable of such monstrous acts," they would say. Stay, brother, stay, and let me finish. They shall speak not of you, Dégel, but of the Baron Leblanc, of our family. I may be a disgrace, for I have no talents and am still more the burden, but I shall not bring shame to the family. You, Dégel, are our pride, the favoured son of the family, and I shall not let you commit such acts. I know, brother, that you think little of yourself; you cater to my whims, you obey father's demands, you tend to the family's investments though you yourself hold no interest anywhere out of the academia; and that's why I speak not of the consequences of this relationship to you yourself, for surely you have thought of more than I can ever suppose. And yet you discarded them, to throw yourself into this sin as a moth to flame despite your rationality. I have no word to reproach you with, for it is your life, but pray only think a little of the family's good name, of father, and of your brother who cannot bear to see you drawn into the swamp and unable to rescue his own brother. As you felt for me when I was ill, what shall become of me when you have ruined yourself with this foolishness of youth? I cannot lose my only brother; it pains me to have to imagine what might happen to you, should you persist on this course. Only imagine, brother, should I be "put to the question"(2) for the same crime against God you are now committing, what shall you feel? Add to that a hundred, a thousand times, and it shall be what I feel should you ruin yourself in the same way.'

A white hand found its way to Dégel's face, which must have felt as ice upon flesh, if the frost deep within his soul was a good indicator. Warm fingers passed across his cheeks and into his hair in a repeated gesture of gentle comfort, even as Unity's concerned gaze never left his face. Dégel knew that because he was still staring at his brother, his eyes wide yet unseeing, and all that he knew was that there was something very wrong, from the absence of intense heat of the hand, to its smooth, unblemished skin, to the icy blue that was too light to burn the deep sapphire in which he had become accustomed to drowning. Nonetheless, deeper than that, there was an icy spear impaling itself upon Dégel's heart. Ah, so Unity _did _despise him, after all, for who would not – he who had committed such carnality by his own will. His suppressed fear seized him, striking as a serpent lurking under the surface, for even though Dégel kept telling himself no one would know of his sin, because he would not let them, in the end, there was _someone _who knew after all; there was _always_ someone who knew. Dégel was not ashamed of his love, for he was not ashamed of the only ray of light in his life, but only of his covetousness, and the candid words of his brother did but draw painful re-awareness to his mind, previously deliberately blinded with hope of anything but a dark future. How base it was of him, how despicable, to be so very selfish, to the point of disregarding his own family's good name for his own lust for that which he knew he could never have. He had failed to honour his father, and he had coveted. But oh, how it hurt to merely think of not being to see that one man once again, even on pain of bringing shame to his family. Dégel envied the ephemera, which lived for but a day, but how happy they were, buzzing about, singing, dancing, doing that which they loved during the sweet day of summer, upon the old oak, letting their life erupt into the magical pollen that added that genteel veil to the honeyed light. Were he an ephemeron and Kardia his sunlight! It would have been better for him to die than to let anyone know of his sin, and it would have been better still, to die while burning with everything he had, than to live deprived of sight, senses, and the world. When Samson had to choose, was it easy for him to turn away from the teachings of the Lord – and his Covenant – as Dégel had chosen to turn away from all that was good, and embrace that vice that was Delilah, as Dégel Kardia?(1) Yet if anything, it should have been the other way round, for he despised the society and the fetters in which he lived, while Kardia, for him, was all that he had ever wanted, really – warmth, candour, passion, life, freedom. Still, _still, _in the end, it hurt to be torn in two entirely opposite directions. Would it have been better, indeed, to have his eyes put out and die imprisoned, knowing that he had betrayed neither his beloved nor his family?

'… Know that I broach this subject not to hurt you, nor to reproach your choice, for I bear towards you neither spite nor malice. I love you, brother, as you have loved me. He who is your enemy, is my enemy, and he who tempts you into falling, shall be my greatest enemy. What I would not do to pull you out of this bottomless pit of quicksand!'

The words struck something within Dégel, and he leapt, startling his brother, whose hand was still hovering in the air. His lips trembled as blood fled his face, Dégel stood stunned before a terrified Unity. He stood as a mad man, his eyes wild, his whole body quaking even as the roaring fire threw dancing shadows upon his countenance, which had frozen into a terrible rigid mask of shock and fury. His brother stared at him as he would a predator, his hand retreating in slow motion, as though he was afraid to provoke Dégel, which probably he should not. Slowly, with great difficulty, he opened his mouth to utter words no louder than a whisper, yet those which rang in his ears as thunder: 'Then… The night of the banquet… The burglar… Did you…?'

Coherent thoughts refused to form in his suddenly fevered mind, and the cold sting of terror was dislodged by a wave of terrible anger sweeping through the frozen plain of his mind, leaving him short of breath and overwhelmed with passion. On the other hand, his brother, too, had in that split second calmed himself with a cold wrath not unlike that possessing Dégel himself. From where he sat, Unity looked up at him with eyes now as cold as the icy colour of his irises, his shoulders squared, his knuckles white.

'It must be done. As I have said, and shall not hesitate to remind you again, brother, he who tempts you into falling shall be my greatest enemy, whom I shall seek to destroy.'

'And if I am the one at fault?'

'Then a sacrifice must be made so you can return to your right mind. The longer I wait, the deeper you sink. It must be now. Deny society if you must, deny your family, as you have done, and that is your love. _This, _brother, is _my _love for you.'

The table almost cracked under his hands as he slammed upon them with a strength he never knew he possessed, but cared not in that moment. Dégel could sense the rage rapidly taking over his mind, and in his peripheral vision he could already see the invasion of red. His brother was startled by his sudden outbreak, yet the steel remained in his eyes. They glared at each other, cold on cold, for perhaps after all it did run in the blood. There was suddenly something so very malignant, so very spiteful about the defiant way Unity lifted his chin, the way colour drained from his countenance, the way his thin lips flattened into a hard line even as Dégel did the same, that he found the last of his controls slipping. Abruptly turning on his heels, Dégel moved in long, purposeful strides that resembled a hasty escape, aiming solely for the door in order to think, just think about anything other than blood and violence.

'Wait, we are yet to…' The hand that reached out to him was swatted away with a slap that resounded in the sweltering quiet of the room, the sound ringing as music in his ears even as his brother's eyes flashed as those of an animal's.

'Do _not _touch me, brother. Know that I am aware of your affections for me, and that I appreciate it, or you would not have been my brother anymore.' Drawing in a breath, he turned to look at Unity with blazing eyes and all the restraints he could hold onto, lest he strike his own brother then and there. 'You overstepped your boundaries. If I am impure, they may excommunicate me; _mon dieu! _they may send me to the pyre if they so wish! I shall remove myself from the household, leave the country and live in exile for the rest of my life if that's what it takes to preserve the good name of the Leblanc family! Yet only remember this, brother, that should you attempt to harm that man again, for indeed it is my fault in seducing him, I who brings about his great fall, he who is more righteous than both you and I, and the entire nobility together, severing any bond you have with me shall be the least you have to worry about. Pray, do not make your own brother order house arrest on you!'

With that, he departed after throwing a silent 'I shall watch over father tonight. Alone.'

For a long time after that, Dégel did not know what he was doing. He was in a waking dream, where everything moved strangely in front of his eyes in distorted blurs, as floating blobs of colours disembodied from matter. Thoughts raced by his mind in whirlwinds, pulling him into indescribable excitement at one time, and pitch black depression another. He remained confused for however long that it lasted, and could not remember anything that happened to him during that period of blackout; only fleeting ideas of bright summer days, a child with brilliant blue eyes, an even smaller child who clung to his legs, the mother he had never met, the vague sight of white beard during a fever induced sleep, a scarlet scarf around a smile that lit a grey day golden, remained. With feeble consciousness at long last, Dégel found himself pacing the length of a room he did not remember entering, the terrified eyes of a lone maid upon him as though she was imprisoned with a caged beast, which, the young man absently mused, was perhaps not that far from the truth after all. Upon the bed in the middle of the room lay the outlines of a withered old man, his brows white and his eyes sunken. Dégel remembered this man was one of those few he had loved from a distance, obeying and fulfilling his duties, but which love suddenly brought weighing weariness upon his being. Dégel wondered what it would be like to be his father but for a day, to know what the old man was thinking when he looked at his sons with that distanced grey gaze of his, to feel what he was feeling when neither of his sons loved him the way normal sons loved their fathers, and now to see how he would react to his son's betrayal. Or, perhaps, he did not know what a 'normal' love was from the beginning; ice had run in Dégel's blood, and then Unity's; how could it not have been in his father's in the first place? His thoughts drifted away from the cold of his father to the warmth of his sister Seraphina, whose smile was a spring breeze and whose eyes shamed even the brightest of stars. Ah, what would she have thought of her brother's choice, he wondered. Slowly, as with a mad man, a wry smile bloomed upon his dry lips. Maybe the maid had seen the glint of insanity in his eyes, for she abruptly scampered out of the room without being ordered to. All very well, for he would have the space for himself to think. He was thinking… What was he thinking? Dégel scolded himself for his absent-mindedness. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of his pacing, his eyes intently on the smouldering embers in the now dark fireplace. Was Unity's hatred for his lover like those embers? Dégel remembered he was a sweet child, and even now still that child to Dégel himself. How the little puppy he had come to adore became the man he was, Dégel could never comprehend; yet he knew that his brother was dangerous, for his cunning seemed to have been inherited from their father. Would he attempt on Kardia's life again? Dégel scowled darkly at the prospect of what he might do should that happen and harshly pushed the possibilities out of his head, for in that single moment, he had abruptly felt weariness overcoming him in the form of unstoppable shivering. Hence, it was, though for but a while more, comforting to know his words had served their purpose. Regardless, in the end, Unity loved him, that much he knew, a thousand, a million times more than Dégel could understand. Dégel loved his family, his brother in particular, and he loved that one man whose flame had burnt a trail into his frozen heart still more. What was he to do, then, as his brother so hated the man he loved? Was his love all a crafty lie Dégel had built to fool himself, that he must betray his family for a single man, or betray that man whose heart he could never fathom for his family? Dégel became confused and angry at the mere thought. A wretched thing, it all was! He was angry at the world, at his family, at himself, and even at that one man whom he could not bring himself to hate. What was the matter with him and Kardia? Or was it a matter with mankind in general? Wretches, that they were. Were he Ganymede and Kardia the great eagle! But what would they have done had they had an eternity to themselves. Nay, Kardia was still suffering; he hurt with each draw of his breath. Could Dégel not take that, too, upon himself? To plant a demon rose within his own lungs and in exchange have that man healthy but for another day? Or if not, then perhaps in pain Kardia would not have to be alone. The morbid thought pleased Dégel, for what better way to resolve this conflict than to not choose at all. Ah, but that would be bad, for Kardia was life itself, that which Dégel had forever been admiring. Better not to taint such brilliance with his own morbid thoughts; Kardia would never have approved anyway. Dégel fancied he saw his own reflection in the glass window, against the velvety drop of the night sky, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks flushing high with a fever matching that of his lover. He touched a hand to his forehead, and his hand felt as ice, while his forehead as fire. Releasing a chuckle that sounded almost like a gasp for air, he looked out of the window, where pristine flakes of snow were lazily circling each other in their merry waltz accompanied by the night gale, where the stars were bright upon the night sky and things were quiet within the dead of the night.

'So tell me, dear sister, what is to be done?'

And then he had to stifle a laugh with mirth he knew not form whence, for perhaps from the beginning, he had already known the answer. Foolish, ungrateful, immoral, diabolical; that was what his love was, the love that cut better than a knife, bound tighter than a chain, and consumed more than hellfire. It was the love that pushed him further each moment into depravity, until all that he could think of was mid-night coloured hair and lop-sided grins, himself, his family, and everything else literally damned. Or perhaps it was Dégel himself who had elected to forfeit his own reason when he had first laid eyes upon that little flower stand, where Kardia had stood surrounded by all that was beautiful, a crown of gold upon his head and the rainbows his carriage. Dégel wondered why the Lord created such a creature as he was, one which hesitated not in turning away from his own family and one which violated the laws laid by He Himself with delight. It was a paradox that amused one, for it was not within the light of the Lord that he had found peace, but in the darkness of the Devil that his sun had found him. Dégel wanted to laugh at the thought. His cheek was suddenly hot, before freezing cold, and Dégel extended a hand he could not even feel to wipe at the wetness.

'Ah, I laughed so hard I cried. So tell me, why is it red?'(3)

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Note: these explanations may kill some of your better emotions as you read the story, as they did with me when I put them down. Nonetheless, I feel that some explanations are wanting for the more obscure citations I made. Hence, please read at your own discretion.

(1) There are various interpretations of the story of Samson and Delilah, but according to what I learnt, he too is to be reproached for turning against God and marrying a vicious woman, i.e. Delilah. It was because he chose to do that that he was in the wrong.

(2) i.e. subjected to the Inquisition (Spanish, Portuguese, German, etc.)

(3) Haemolacria, in case you were wondering.


	10. Chapter 10: Heartache

Author's note: A speedy update, compared to my schedule as of late! A bunch of neurons died during the process of writing this chapter, but so far this has been the most difficult. See, I'm not talented with words and reasoning, so since this chapter requires both, portraying Dégel's persuasion and Unity's craftiness, I feel like I have been re-reading and editing it a hundred times before I'm actually satisfied. That said, if you do find it less enjoyable than the previous chapters or your own expectations, do let me know, and I'll try harder in the next chapters (which won't be _that _many, considering where this is heading). Anyway, this is a warning that THERE WILL BE SOME MATURE CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER. Other than that, thank you all for reading and reviewing, following and favouriting. Aletheia, welcome to as an official member; your support since my very first days honoured me and your insightful reviews are a source of happiness to me. Know that I am grateful. Here's the new chapter; I hope you all enjoy it.

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**Chapter 10: Heartache**

The early morning of a winter day is beautiful. As the sun has yet to rise, the sky is immersed in a sort of twilight that is half blue and half white, painted overall with the lightest shade of indigo. Far away on the eastern horizon, the morning star rises as a gem upon the pale sheet, which wanes along with the blue moon, heralding the golden sun yet to open its eye. In the half-dark, the fresh sheets of snow upon the ground glow a soft white so vast and so pure that it could nearly blind one's eyes should one turns to it for too long in admiration. There are yet few people in the streets, and the blanket of silence that covered the little town seems to have been placed there by the angels themselves, for there is something almost holy about the place, the snow fresh and stark white, and the quiet reverent. Soon the first light would reach the pristine ground in a glow reflected so strongly that such an insignificant town could have been mistaken for the far heavens in its radiance, but since as yet beautiful Aurora is still fast asleep in her downy bed of cloud, the morning peace would be soft and gentle for a little while more.

It was upon such a morning that found a young man striding down the streets. Despite all the beauty around him, he seemed not to notice anything other than his own troubled thoughts, his head lowered and his eyes wild. There was an air of great agitation about him as he continued walking, not caring where he was stepping or how the wind had managed to sneak into the fold of his coat, caressing his skin with its chilly fingers. His footprints set out a neat path straight towards a small church at the centre of the town, disturbing the yet unblemished snow from the night. It was too early to open shops yet, but the young man knew for a fact that many were already preparing for a new day, the person he was seeking included.

The great shadow of the looming bell tower could be made out as he approached the building, yet it was not the church itself that Dégel searched. He turned to a little side street at the back of the church, obscured by the hanging evergreens as a curtain upon entrance. The cobble-stoned path led straight to a wooden gate not higher than himself, upon which were vines over vines of a flower whose name he did not know, but only that the sight must have been beautiful in the summer, when the blossoms so tenderly embraced wood and stone. During the winter, particularly after a night of heavy snow as was the previous night, though, they bore another kind of beauty, covered in thick whiteness, untouched and whole, the dry branches deep within slumber, waiting for the day buds would shoot forth again in the green of life. It was as though Dégel was walking straight into a page of one of those various fairy tales he had read his brother when they were both young and innocent. Right then, though, beauty was the least of the young man's concerns, lost in straying thoughts as his mind was.

Dégel easily climbed over the low gate, into the courtyard leading to doors and corridors, feeling very much like the burglar they had branded Kardia as. If he had spared but a moment to think, he knew that his face would glow as the yet to rise sun, but which would usually spark something strange within the depths of Kardia's eyes. Walking on tip-toes along the dark corridor leading to the second courtyard, where Kardia's room was, Dégel could feel his heart fluttering within his chest as the wings of a hummingbird despite the tumultuous thoughts he was harbouring. Even though he merely did not want to wake anyone up, the stealth with which he was approaching that man's room brought painful self-awareness to his mind. With a bashfulness that resembled the days of sweet simplicity he so missed, Dégel knocked on the worn door and called Kardia's name in a voice barely audible even against the background of total silence everything was submerged in. At the knock, the door flew open, only to reveal a dishevelled Kardia. His expression incredulous mixed with a trace of delight, the man pulled Dégel into the room without further ado, closing the door after themselves.

'What are you doing here at this hour? How is your father?' He questioned, his hands constantly running over Dégel's cheeks, as though making sure that he was actually there in that room with him.

'My father's condition is stable, thank the Lord. And I only wanted to see you before you have to leave for the stall; you're still open, are you not? Tonight too I may have to watch over my father, and thus shall not be able to honour my promise to come at dusk. I wish only that you know the reason for my absence…'

Dégel had barely finished his sentence before he was pulled into a long, lingering kiss. Something dark flashed through Kardia's brilliant eyes, but in the flickering light of the dying candle, Dégel became uncertain of what he was seeing. Instead, the abruptness of the kiss took the breath out of him as he staggered into the welcomed arms of his lover, suddenly aware of how fatigue was beginning to overwhelm him, starting from his legs. Dégel closed his eyes and enjoyed the way thoughts faded from his head as sensations took over, his shoulders relaxing from the cramp he did not even know he had and his weight leaning against the only certain support that was Kardia. And when they parted at long last, his mind had already been reduced to a pleasant state of blankness, his insides warm and tingling at the same time.

'I thought I heard someone approaching, yet never could I have known it was you. If only you know how sweet you are, my dear Dégel, to come for something so trivial.' The smile directed at him was gentle and filled to the brim with happiness as Kardia guided him to sit on his bed, yet Dégel could not but notice that the dark flint within his eyes remained, looming as a shadow under the clear sapphire surface. 'But your eyes are red; have you been staying up the whole night to watch over your father?'

'Yes, and I intend to stay but for a moment, before I have to go back and rest, for tonight I shall stay awake again.'

'You have a brother, do you not? Can he not watch over your father as you stay away during the day?'

'Kardia?' Dégel was surprised at the sudden insistence with which Kardia was trying to detain him, but which delighted him nonetheless.

'Stay, Dégel, I want you to stay. Rest here, for no one enters my room without permission. You can lunch with my old man in the church; I'll tell him that you are here.'

'I have eaten, much obliged. There is nothing more that I need.' Dégel lied easily, though Kardia did not seem inclined to believe him. He regarded Dégel for a moment with intense eyes, before reluctantly giving in, an eyebrow raised.

'Very well then. We close early in the afternoon, and I shall be with you shortly after that. Winter break has started a week ago at the university, has it not?'

Kardia was going to say something else, but a knock on the door had stopped him.

'Kardia? We are departing presently… Why are there footprints leading to your room?' A soft, feminine voice called from the other side of the door.

The man stared at the door for a moment, before sighing and moving to open it. Carefully, he inserted his body into the gap that had cracked open, blocking from view the contents of his room.

'I have a visitor, who shall stay for the day, that's why. Go on ahead and set up the shop; I shall catch up with you shortly.'

Dégel heard the woman murmuring something to Kardia, her voice muffled by the door. The man, however, was grinning from ear to ear, his expression mischievous as he glanced sideways at Dégel, before returning to wave his hand in a dismissive gesture.

'Do not take too long, Kardia, or there will be no one to put up the fir trees.' Dégel heard her saying before leaving. With a cluck of his tongue, Kardia shook his head as he returned to the room, locking the door after himself.

'And so she knows.'

Dégel's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach at that one simple sentence. The image of his brother's icy look came to mind, and immediately he felt his stomach turning from panic. His expression must have changed horribly, for Kardia burst out laughing at that.

'Come, do not make that expression! She's my sister; she supports me, as I her. That time when she decided to become engaged to that little rascal from Asia, I supported her much as I myself would have liked to make that boy's life a misery had I the choice. 'Tis my job to be by her side as a base to be relied upon, whatever she chooses, and I know she would have done the same for me. There is nothing to worry about, you know.'

The obnoxious laughter shocked Dégel; never could he have imagined Kardia making light of the situation as he did then. He recalled how painful it was for him to confront his own brother, who disapproved of the only thing he had ever wanted. Could there indeed be someone who supported what they were having, a crime against God Himself? Dégel found the mere notion doubtful. He knew his brother wanted but the best for him, yet to have so little trust in him that he so doubted his own brother's carefully considered choice, it was still a stab to the heart; it was as though Unity was denying Dégel's very existence. He did not want to believe in Kardia's over-optimistic words, for in the end, should they prove false, the heartbreak would be total for him; still, somewhere deep within the recess of his mind, he hoped Kardia was right, that somewhere, at least there was someone who could accept them for what they were – mere humans who were slaves to their own hearts.

'Dégel.' Kardia's touch was tender as he lowered himself to sit next to Dégel. His smile was genuine, and it was soft and it was warm, trickling into his heart to soothe the raging struggle there. ''Tis true; I trust her to do the right thing, as she would me. So come, do not be concerned so; I would hate to see you so tormented.'

'And yet…'

'For this one time only, I would ask that you trust me. Is it too much to ask such a thing of you?' There was something sorrowful about the way his smile had become. The dark spot within his eyes had deepened, spreading as a drop of ink within a well of clear water, much like how Dégel's own sadness had spread. His fear forgotten, witnessing such uncertainty in such a simple matter hurt him more than he had thought possible, especially since it was uncertainty on Kardia's part, he who was strength and confidence in person. The single thought that displaced all current worries was that he would do anything to wipe that look from that one man, he who should only be happy, as he so deserved.

'Apologies.' Dégel leaned in close to place a chaste kiss upon Kardia's lips, 'I should not have come brooding;' Another kiss upon the forehead, 'I trust you; of course I do;' And another between the brows, 'Yet there are things that I must tell you, much to my own shame.'

An unreadable look passed Kardia's eyes, before he shook his head.

'Why such heavy words, Dégel? Know that there is nothing about you deserving of such self-deprecation, whatever you might think of it. But come, you are exhausted, and I have a day before me. I would have you lie down and find sleep, to wake up well and wait for me when I return this afternoon. You owe me more than this explanation you want to give, remember?'

'Always scoffing…'

'No, I am serious. We shall talk this afternoon. Only tell me, what is this shame you speak of, Dégel?' Dégel could almost make out the concern in depths of blue. The words weighed heavy on his tongue, clotting his throat as he averted his gaze, suddenly remembering how unworthy he was of that man whose concerns were directed at him, whereas in return he had brought Kardia only heartache and danger.

'My brother…'

A hand lifted his face up by the chin, so that he was forced to look straight at unwavering eyes. The look in Kardia's eyes was indecipherable, and much more so than Dégel had ever seen him. It frightened Dégel to be put into the position of the studied, unable to read what the other was thinking whereas he himself was exposed to the evaluation of another, for it was often he who read people as an open book, not the other way around. It frightened him much more not to be able to understand what thoughts were going through Kardia's head, whether he did despise him, or whether he was repulsed by the troubles Dégel had brought him; he did not have to use his imagination to know what would become of his heart should his fears came true. He knew the terror was starting to creep into his eyes, despite his very best efforts to contain himself, for the bridge of his nose was already stinging, a lump already forming within his throat. Thus, Dégel shut the windows to his soul away, hoping that by small mercies, Kardia would let it slide until he had prepared himself better to again broach the matter, despite its being the purpose with which he had come in the morning, though back then he was too confused to know what he was even doing.

The pair of lips suddenly upon his told him that perhaps the gods did allow small graces, after all, but the fleeting idea was banished from mind the moment Kardia's next words reached his ears in a voice eerily low that betrayed none of his thoughts.

'Your brother.' Another kiss, 'That is all I need to know.' And another, 'Pray tell, how much do you love him, to be this torn apart as he is against me?'

Dégel's eyes startled open as he instinctively inched back. Kardia was looming over him, dark hair hanging over his brows, which were furrowed, and a look of utter pain within his eyes clouded with grief.

'How do you…?'

'How do I know, you mean? What other meaning could there be behind your words spoken so heartrendingly? What reason could there be for your troubled thoughts, such that you could not look me straight in the eye? Ah, but you look as a startled swan. Rest assured, my dear Dégel, for I bear no grudge towards your brother, he who acts only in your best interests.' The smile turned bitter even as he leaned in again.

What Dégel would not have done to make him understand! It angered him that Kardia had, yet again, taken the blame on himself, completely ignoring what Dégel had been trying to tell him even before realisation had dawned upon him, even before the past days that had felt like a century had passed. After he had told Kardia of his choice the first time they had joined, and then in the form of a promise of forever, he could not imagine the man still harboured such doubts in the implication of his words. Would Kardia have believed him if he had torn his heart from his chest to show it to him and died in the process? Dégel knew he was ready to commit such a heinous act, if only to ward off Kardia's doubts. Pressing his fingers against the descending lips of his lover, Dégel gathered what control he had and looked up with utmost defiance.

'You are mistaken, I say. What my brother has done was unforgiveable, and it pains me not only that he has made you his enemy, but also that despite his intentions towards you, I must forgive him this one time, for he is my only brother. On that night of the banquet, it was he who arranged for a guard to follow and make an attempt on your life. Did you notice? Perhaps you did not, for you escaped well and unscathed, after all. Yet did you know what had gone through my mind when I heard the gunshot, Kardia? I was half-mad with worry when I thought it was you who fell because of my very whim. Do you, or do you not care for my emotions, whether my heart breaks into a million shards that cut away at my consciousness whenever I think I could lose you? That you would take the blame upon yourself makes me weak with delight and thoughts of love, yet at the same time it weighs upon my conscience that you do not trust me enough to believe in this choice I have made for myself, just as my brother had not trusted me in this regard. Have you forgotten the vows that you have accepted only yesterday from me? 'Until death reunites us again,' I said. Every morning I wake with praise on the tip of my tongue, that for yet another day I am gifted with your presence. I give thanks not only for the fact that you have turned your affections towards me, but more than that, that I have been allowed to turn mine towards you. Say what you will, Kardia, yet I am ready to break from my own family should a similar incident happens, for my family is not the same as yours. I love my brother; of course I love him, he who is my very blood; still I envy you for the support you gain from your sister; it is not a gift the Lord thought fitting to bestow upon me, for it is perhaps more than enough that you are here. Nay, for someone such as I am, the only befitting end is suffering, be it separation from my blood, or from my very heart, that is, you. Pray, do not make me repeat this abomination, for I have laid my own heart bare before you, and it is set in stone in this matter. _Par dieux, _what would you have me do to prove that the love for my brother lies inferior to this burning yearning I hold for you, one that has me weak from desire and anxious with terror?!'

Dégel's emotions swirled as a raw force a nature, a maelstrom that destroyed everything sucked into it, or a black hole that crushed everything within its centre. It drove him to the point of explosion, taking all of his frustration out on Kardia, ending with him nearly hysterical at the end of his speech. Suddenly craving proximity as an urge to claw at his own skin until it drew blood, Dégel removed his hand from Kardia's mouth to put it to better use. Lips crashed upon lips without ceremony, Dégel's hands frantically threaded their way into the thick mane of hair, and his body pressed, if at all possible, further into Kardia's, as he pulled the man into a tangled mass of limbs and hair with him, willing themselves to merge into one then and there. Kardia, for a split second, was taken by surprise, before he, two, seized Dégel by a hand round his back. Tongues roamed over each other's mouth, seeking to know, to claim, to possess, before Dégel felt his lips split, the single drop of blood lapped up greedily by his lover, his eyes suddenly fervent with passion and desire, dominating over all other emotions. Kardia pushed Dégel onto the bed, supporting himself with his forearms on each side of Dégel's head, his panting breath harsh upon Dégel's face. The faint smell of blood wafted over, and Dégel became drunk as though he had had forever to drink in that man's embrace.

'Would that this were night and the loving embrace of Nyx upon us!' Kardia's voice was hoarse, need and want palpable in the way he barely held himself still as he spoke.

'Then make belief that it is such, and have me for the rest of today!' Was Dégel's own breathless reply, his eyes captured in the endless black of Kardia' irises, where his own want was reflected in a crimson blush and dewy eyes. Indeed, the reflection he saw was almost unrecognisable, for it was the very image of despair mixed with temptation, his hair fanning out in an aureole, his lips red, his lashes trembling. Dégel knew he should be ashamed at how he looked, yet in that single moment, he could not care for anything other than Kardia's reactions.

Another kiss ensued, and Dégel fell into oblivion. Heat spread along his body as an all-consuming flame, sweeping thoughts from mind until only the inferno that was his ardour was left. Ringing in his ears was the mantra of Kardia's name, repeated again and again, until it all faded into the sound of heavy breathing. A hand found its way beneath his shirt, and Dégel remembered how to feel again, his skin tingling with an itch for contact that would not be quenched, and which grew into red hot iron branding upon his skin as he was caressed with rough fingers.

'You would deprive me of sweet patience, and sweeter still torture of my excitement during the day, as I wait till our reunion?' Kardia's despair matched his, pressing insistently against his thigh. Dégel shivered at the mere thought.

'Would you rather be patient and wait, then, knowing that I suffer the same agony as you do, Kardia?'

A whispered 'minx' was the last thing he heard, before the man bent down, and in a single movement, ripped out his belt. The daze he was in faded when Dégel's eyes screwed shut, his mouth opening in a silent cry, as something very hot descended upon himself, caressing him in ways he had never known or thought possible. Dots exploded behind his closed eyelids even as his body shook as though he was in seizure, writhing half to shy away from the touch, half to seek more of the heat he desired. Hands roamed over places that brought a furious blush to his cheeks, and Dégel fancied he was dying from the light-headedness that brought him. Yet the sensation did not remain long, for pleasure coursed through his veins in rampaging wave after wave, wiping away any trace of lingering thought. Dégel reached down to grab a fistful of hair, not even aware of what he was doing, his back arching off the mattress, his legs beginning to spasm around the broad shoulders working between them, silently begging for the unspeakable. Pressure built up within his abdomen, and then suddenly Kardia did _something _with his tongue, his hands holding down Dégel's hips, and with a drawn-out moan, Dégel's world fell away into welcomed darkness.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The snow had been somewhat cleared up for ease of travel, leaving the grey and dirty ground covered in a thin layer of slush that clung to one's shoes every step he took. Despite the various colourful shops still open in anticipation of the holiday to come, the day became dark past noon as great mountains of cloud covered the sky and the radiance of the sun, as though ready to shed frozen tears of snow any moment. The white washed little café had closed days before, the owner said to be ill due to the harsh weather. Upon the white walls, untainted as the snow was, lone baskets of evergreen hung, still green, still alive, yet barely there, a sorrowful reminder of days of sweet sunlight and warm wind flitting by in joy. There was something desolate about the place once brimming with life in the bright summer day; the thought seemed to be weighing heavily upon the young man from the stand opposite. The flower stand once immersed in a rainbow of colours fared little better. Fir trees were now the only thing displayed, their size ranging from a grown man's height, even taller, to little ones half their sizes. Occasionally, a wealthy man would come by, look at the trees, and even more rarely, one would place order for the tree to be delivered. Nonetheless, apart from such occasional disturbances, the day was quiet, the travellers sparse, the songbirds asleep.

Under the temporary roof of the stand, a young man with midnight-coloured hair stood, his brows dark, his eyes brooding. He stood in the silence as a god within his temple, troubled by a thousand thoughts, and another thousand worries. Surrounding him was an air of contemplation so thick it could have been cut with a knife as all was still, the man standing as a statue. Cold air from the outside rushed in in billowing swipes through the opening, caressing dark locks of hair as the hand of a lover, but one which brought chills to the skin it touched. However, the young man seemed not to care for the intrusion, for his mind was elsewhere, his gaze fixed upon everything and nothing all at once.

There was a sudden rustling, and the sound of footsteps crunching the melted snow. Approaching the little stand was another young man with lustrous hair that glowed as it caught light, upon whose countenance a pleasant smile was pasted. He stopped directly in front the shop and removed the top hat, revealing brilliant blue eyes that laughed as spears of ice to the heart. The look met a dark gaze, and suddenly hatred flashed across both men's eyes, daring the other to begin first.

'Good afternoon, M. Kokkinos. I see that you are well.' A smile sweeter than a lily blossomed upon Unity's pale lips as he cocked his head to the side, the very image of innocence.

'I am well, indeed,' the smirk with which Kardia returned Unity's smile was scathing, 'Which is unfortunate, is it not?'

'Perhaps, perhaps not, though I _am _taken by surprise.' A look of puzzlement passed Unity's face, before he smiled again, 'You had help, I suppose?'

'Indeed, a dear brother of mine. Though it was quite the victory that we two buried the five of your men last night, when it was us who were ambushed.' Kardia's smirk turned arrogant, his eyes narrowed and his teeth showing, as though he was snarling instead of smiling, 'So tell me, is that how you seek to protect your brother, having your lackeys make attempts on another's life?'

'A blunt man with no talent with words. I wonder what it is that my illustrious brother sees in you.' In a split second, the smiled dropped in favour of pure contempt, 'He holds so much affection for you, see; he'd even turn away from his own family for so foolish a thing as this… affair with you. However, I will have you know that such a pure creature as he is must suffer, whoever he chooses. Without you, he may be the iceman without emotions; yet, without me, he shall be consumed by guilt until the day he breathes his last. However long that he has loved you, he has loved his family for much longer. We have always been together since our childhood, inseparable as a heart from the body. Even before that, when our beloved sister passed away from this world, see how hurt he had been. Did he tell you of this? His heart breaks easily, especially at the departure of a family member. Did you know he had closed himself off since the death of our sister? Before that his smile had been so carefree, it hurt to merely look at. We have bonded over this awful loss. Did you know, his love is the quiet type, spoken in action and never in words; see how concerned he was when this misfortune has befallen my father, as when others had befallen me myself. Do you remember, the week he had spent in another town lecturing? Perhaps you do not. I shall remind you, regardless. It was a few days before our very first meeting, I believe – when he had been back to town, barely stepping down from the carriage. I remember how Dégel had flown to my room, having only heard of my unfortunate illness. See how concern was etched upon his face, and how he had sat for hours, speaking to me, lulling me to sleep. It shames me to bare my own weakness before another, yet for him, I shall even endure this disgrace. How long it had been that he had cared for me, as I him! Know that my affections for him are the only reason you have not been subject to the question yet. You, on the other hand, M. Kokkinos, has knowingly tempted him into this unspeakable abomination, fully aware of what may befall him. Society scorns this sort of behaviour, even absent this crime against God. Dégel is the finest amongst all the men in town; he is admired, lusted after, and envied by numerous. Need I make the conclusion for you? Have you no regard for his well-being, or his future? Have you no shame in what you have done to him who is too pure to know what he did was against all morality?'

Kardia's eyes darkened at the words, his hands curling into fists. His breathing began to increase, and even the removed air about him had given way to fury. Murderous intent could almost be made out from the way he glared at the man before him, as a cornered animal its hunter.

'And what of the son who did not stay at his father's side, when his brother had spent the night looking after him? What does it speak of his heart, he who even though loves his father so, would abandon him to seek quarrel with another?' He almost snarled out the words, voice gruff with unconcealed wrath, 'I, too, will have you know that though you and Dégel are brothers, you two are complete opposites. He may be the iceman, yet the depth of his heart is gentler and purer than you will ever know. You, M. Unity Leblanc, on the other hand, has the appearance of a saint, yet in terms of intrigue no man is your equal. You think a noble such as yourself is placed above us commoners by the Lord, but in the end, what does it say that you should use others to attempt murder and avoid dirtying your own hands? The love you reserve for your brother is worthy of admiration, yet the methods you used appeal not to the Lord, but to the Devil himself. You have taken actions, knowing you have put your own brother through indescribable agony, and yet you would seek to push on, disregarding his feelings, which I am certain he has made clear to you. So tell me, between us, which one is to blame for hurting him?'

The gloved hand tightened against the black walking cane, as if willing to draw it out into the sword it had concealed. Unity's hand twitched ever so slightly, before he transferred the cane to be held by an arm, removing his glove with dexterity. With a long exhale, he turned eyes towards Kardia. The pleasant smile had long disappeared; in its place were down-turned lips upon a pallid countenance. The sight was terrible to behold, he who was sweet as a child turning into the very personification of Phobos and Deimos combined, his eyes burning a cold fire and his facial muscles spasming uncontrollably.

'An _ad hominem _attack on my character does not change the fact that the serpent has tempted the purest of creatures into the fall from grace. Yet I shall address this attack, to show that reason is with me. My father is recovering, the family's physician is watching over him, and the last time I checked, he was well. My presence is best put to use, not by his side where he is yet unconscious, but where the evil that has befallen my blood can be addressed, and so that my father does not have to hear of this disgrace. This, M. Kokkinos, is how I propose to address things.' The glove that was dropped onto the grey snow landed without a sound; yet to all those present, the meaning was clear as the stark white of the material against the dirt. 'If it pains my brother so to choose, let us not make him choose at all. In the end, what I have done, I have done solely for his greater good, considering that I shall do what I can to limit his suffering, bearing in mind that his future is the greatest stake of all. Wounds will heal and scars will mend. My words of reproof have fallen upon unwilling ears; I could but make a sacrifice to turn my brother back to the righteous path. I would have satisfaction.'

There was a blank, before Kardia's smirk widened into a full grin. His own eyes seemed to have changed from dark blue to a fire darker than hell itself, something resembling bloodlust floating within it. A subtle change took place in him in the way his shoulders straightened, his chin lifted and his stance relaxed. Kardia stood taller than anyone had ever seen him in his arrogant glory, as a sense of power radiated from him, almost brightening his looks, elevating him to a raw force that inspired immediate fear. His voice rumbled as a laugh when the next words were proffered:

'_À outrance_, I presume?'

'Indeed, for otherwise neither of us would deem it fit to surrender this struggle. Will you choose the weapons?'

'I have no need for this advantage, and you are unfamiliar with the Greek way. Pray, choose the weapons yourself.' If possible, the grin grew even wider, betraying the man's excitement at the turn of events.

'Very well. You have forfeited your right to elect weapons. I would have pistols, then.'

'And your second?'

'What need do we have of them in this combat _à outrance_, pray tell? I shall elect none.'

'So would I. However, the one thing that I shall elect is the location; I would have it outside the town, within the forest early before dawn. And let us make it six, before even the songbirds would wake, for no one should know of this… encounter. I shall have with me a lantern.'

'A wise choice, I say. A hundred paces from the stream, or shall we meet at road end and continue together, lest we lose each other before it even begins?'

'The former, for we both know the hunting path.'

'And the date?'

'Tomorrow, if it pleases you. I have no special preferences.'

The smile reached Unity's eyes at last, pale lips parting to reveal pearl like teeth, his mouth a curve splitting his fair visage in two. He shook his head slowly, his eyes still riveted upon his rival.

'My sincerest apologies, yet I have business to attend to. The household is vast, and celebration for Christmas calls preparation duty. Further, ease of mind eludes me for so long as my father remains unconscious; it may yet take a few days for him to recover.'

'You came seeking satisfaction, already bearing in mind the date to your advantage?' Wry amusement flitted through the clouds overhanging Kardia's eyes, 'But very well. Name the date and consider it agreed upon.'

'Much obliged. Let us hold this duel on the dawn of Christmas Eve, then, to celebrate the Lord Christ's birth with our own lives.'

'Such that my family would mourn my loss all the more, or that Dégel shall mark the occasion as a scar forever?' Sarcasm dripped from the man's words even as the determination within his voice seemed set in stone, his tone hardened to steel.

'Either course is possible, for choice has been removed from us both. In matters of intrigue no man is my equal, you said; well, perhaps your own words have given wings to my cunning. Do you accept, or do you not?' On the other hand, Unity's smile had become saccharine, such that one could half wish to embrace him, to press him to one's bosoms, to comfort such a piteous creature, and at the same time to move far away, as though sensing danger from the magnificent yet deadly sundews.

'I have given my word.'

'As I you.' The young man turned, then, his shoulders relaxing, and placed the top hat back upon his fair head, 'Good day, then. I look forward to our next encounter.'

Footsteps receded, and suddenly crystalline drops of tears in the form of congealed ice started falling again from the sky, as though it was the angels themselves who wept for what was to come. The flames within dark blue eyes faded, giving way to devastation so profound, the colour almost turned black. The man staggered, a hand holding onto his forehead, hiding away what could be gleaned through his startling eyes. Faint tremors could be made out running along his frame, shaking the very hand that was holding his head, though whether it was from the cold or something else completely different, no one knew. In ragged breath, strings of words could be heard, each muttered so quickly they became unintelligible. In the end, though, as a young woman with hair the colour of dusk entered, a basket of rare roses clutched within loving arms, the only thing that could be made out, repeated over and over, was that 'he shall be consumed by guilt until the day he breathes his last…'


	11. Chapter 11: Into Depravity

Author's note: Hi guys, how are you all doing? It has been a bit more than a year since I last updated and I must ask you all for forgiveness for this tardiness. I swear it's because of my schoolwork and not because of laziness on my part (though this statement applies only up until last month). It has been so long since I last wrote anything that my writing is now all over the place and I can't really get it right, so it's going to be like the start of this story or worse. I sincerely ask that you bear with it and allow me to improve slowly throughout the few remaining chapters. That said, I'm very glad to be back. I hope you will enjoy the chapter, which, though short, took me nearly a month to write. Thank you all for your support up until my unannounced hiatus and I hope to receive continued support from you from now on.

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**Chapter 11: Into depravity**

When he entered the room was dark. It had been a cold and wet day overall, with the clouds hanging ominously as a veil from God's vision, and on such a day it could almost be thought that God has turned his back to his own creations, drowned in misery and suffering. It was little later than four in the afternoon and darkness has already enveloped everything within its loving embrace, which was thick and heavy as a blanket. The temperature has already dropped, and the slush from the fresh snow in the afternoon has congealed into ice. In the lack of light, they dulled into hideous grey masses upon the ground that was neither pretty nor shiny, but dingy and treacherous – perhaps a good reflection of the day itself. The young man dragged himself into his room, his posture slightly slumped and his feet shuffling.

Upon the bed lay a vague figure, and in the dead quiet of the early evening, the gentle breathing could barely be made out against the void that was the room. It was a slow, lulling rhythm of in and out, inhaling and exhaling, an almost invisible sheen of mist escaping with each puff of breath. Slowly, as the darkness adjusted to one's eyes, his face could be made out against the shadows, soft white glowing as a single spot of light leading the way towards the bed. In the chill of the unheated room, his pale skin became white as death, an unhealthy shade passing underneath the smooth glow. Perhaps but for his breathing, he could have been regarded as such. Yet even in this terrible sort of silence, there was an ethereal kind of beauty about him – not that of a woman, for certain, but perhaps of the archangel Michael himself, with the sharp angles of his face that contrasted against the serenity of his features, creating a strange fusion of both strength and gentleness. The blanket covered his figure up till the chin, so that his head appeared to be swimming out of darkness, floating in limbo as a lone will-o'-the-wisp on a particularly damp night. The image was one of both heavenly light and terrifying eeriness.

It took the young man a moment to simply stare, an indecipherable look in his dark eyes. For a fleeting second there was something that almost resembled anger, but not quite, that passed through his gaze. It was a terrible emotion that casted an almost inhuman look upon his features, before giving place to weariness in the way his strong brows drooped. Silently, he raised a hand to his face, simply holding it, containing the faint tremors that travelled along his arm that could have very well been through his whole body. For a while, the man stood in what could have been brooding or suffering, or both – no one knew the truth in such a single fleeting flicker of time, and no one ever asked, either. Time seemed to stop between them, one obliviously taking leave of the world, and the other in wordless grieving. Darkness returned with a vengeance, threatening to swallow up the both of them. And then, as abruptly as it had started, the dam broke. With jerky, almost panicking movements, the man bolted from the door, where he had been riveted to earlier. He found the table with practised ease, but as he lit the lamp with shaky fingers, the oil stained them without his noticing. The light flared up as a bonfire at that time of the year, and despair could be made out in the boundless depth of the man's eyes. He lifted his hand again, and seemingly to just then recognised his own oil-stained fingertips, gazed at them as though it was the first time he had seen them, or that he was not the very person moving them to his own will. The strange puzzlement lasted for only a tick of a second, though, and the man frowned, and with a deliberate sort of fascination, slammed his hand upon the table, a morbid delight in his eyes as the old furniture creaked unsteadily under the force.

'…' The bang acted as a gunshot, and Dégel bolted up from his lying position. His eyes opened wide, as if he had been through a disturbing dream, one which left him still wondering whether it was his reality or that his reality had crashed into a million shards. A minute passed, and they stared at each other through an infinity that stretched through the void between them, under the flickering light of a dying flame. And then, finally: 'Kardia.'

His voice was clogged, and the acknowledgement came out as a croak, yet the single word betrayed the ocean of emotions within – inexplicable fear, incomprehension, and something bittersweet. It was soft, yet in the silence that followed the outburst, it rang as the bells tolling over the life of every one of them. The man opposite him startled, and his eyes softened.

'My apologies. Did you sleep well?' Reluctantly, as if afraid of something invisible to the both of them, yet still there and very much tangible between them, Kardia left his previous spot for the bed.

'Perhaps; I am not too certain. There was something disturbing in the back of my mind, yet I could not wake up from it though it was dreamless – think you it is a premonition of something to come? Or perhaps it was merely because I was tired; I _have _been feeling something strange for some time now. But enough of that; how was your day? You are pale and shaking. Did something happen?'

Dégel's brows drew together in a light frown as he reached out, touching Kardia's face, as if ascertaining for himself that the very man before him was indeed shaking. There was a sense of wonder in the way his brow cocked, before something within his eyes softened as he lightly ran his hand over the man's cheek and into his hair in a comforting gesture. With his free hand, Dégel pulled Kardia to sit on the bed next to him, before taking the oil-stained hand in his own. A sigh escaped, barely there, yet an exhale of whatever burden he was shouldering nonetheless. Fingers squeezed, and warmth passed between palms pressed so close a feather could not get in between. It was just like that, that somehow the cold seemed to abate from the small space between their twin bodies, and the raging storm suddenly calmed, in the depth of swirling blue and in the relaxing of tensed shoulders, releasing their owner from whatever burden he was harbouring.

'It is nothing; perhaps I too have been tired.' Kardia closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the perpetual glint of mischief had made its re-entrance. 'But speaking of which, how quick it was of you to go back upon your words this morning. Is this tiredness so overpowering it overcomes your will cast in steel and forged in the purgatory itself?'

'Wha…' Dégel's eyes widened in incomprehension, before his cheeks flushed furiously as something seemed to click within his head. Kardia gazed with fond eyes at the stammering man, eyes downcast and an embarrassed expression upon his features. 'That is… Well…' And at last, 'My apologies.'

At that the man had to laugh. The throaty sound resonated within the confined space of the room, and its vibration could almost be made out in the thick atmosphere. The good-natured feeling about him that had been missing that day suddenly returned as his eyes crinkled in mirth. He laid an oil-stained hand upon Dégel's head and ruffled his hair easily and roughly in an affectionate gesture, before a cat-like grin split his visage into two.

'Then will you make up for it, here and now?'

The look which Dégel was fixing upon his lover was unreadable, his lips thinning into a line and his brows stoic. But then, as he leaned in and dropped single 'yes' into the space between them, his eyes hardened into a stern look.

'But pray do not think me so dumb as to not realise that you are trying to change the subject. I know you do not wish for me to know what it is that is ailing you, Kardia; you never do. I trust you, that you are acting as you think best in my interests; yet my mind cannot rest when yours refuses to. I shall not interfere in your personal issues, but I want you to promise me that if it concerns me, you will tell me about it.'

There was something ominous in the way his voice dipped, as though it was a silent promise of bad consequences should his wish not be satisfied. Despite the way Dégel was still slowly inching his way towards his lover, the tension that shot up the moment his words escaped his mouth could almost be cut with a knife, and he appeared more like a predator looming over his prey, ready for the pounce the moment a single sign of weakness is shown, rather than the lover about to kiss his beloved that he was.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever it was that Kardia was going to say.

'Kardia? We need to talk, you rascal.'

As Kardia craned his neck back to shout at whoever it was that was standing behind the door, Dégel's eyes darkened as they suddenly trained on his scarlet scarf. Quick as lightning, his hand shot out to hook into the scarf and tore it away.

'Dégel?' In the split second that it all happened, Kardia had bolted away from the bed. Standing in the middle of the room, he stared at his lover with wide eyes, before they narrowed into slits filled with malice. There was something akin to cold fury that shone behind the blue of his eyes, within which there was reflected an equally icy wrath contained in a single look that stood out against deathly pallor. A sound resembling a growl ripped itself across the silence and settled into congealed ice, encasing and suffocating.

For upon the bronzed neck were purple fingerprints resembling a sort of strange marking. The angry marks were imprinted into flesh, and upon a closer look one could see that the skin was dented and swollen, proof of unrestrained violence and near-death experience. The atmosphere between the two suddenly seemed to have become even more frigid than before as Dégel glared at the terrible sight before him.

'What is this?' The baritone of Dégel's voice rang in the sudden silence as a knife through butter.

'A brawl, dear Dégel.' The fake nonchalance with which Kardia answered him thinly veiled his own fury as though Kardia was deliberately mocking Dégel for his unreasoned anger.

'Do _not_ lie to me!' The shout was accompanied by a yank at the front at Kardia's shirt. The ice within his eyes had been replaced by a fire blazing from the depths of hell as his face contorted into a mask of terrible wrath. His fist seemed almost about to tear the other's shirt when he yanked again. 'You _promised _to tell me when someone made another attempt on your life!'

'Blast it! It is for _your_ sake that I don't want to tell!'

The argument was brought to an abrupt halt as the door flew inward with a loud noise. Soft moonlight flooded into the darkness of the room, casting a long shadow upon the ground. In the doorway stood a tall man with glinting dark eyes, his face twisted into horror mixed with surprise. Not a word passed as they scrutinised each other, unwilling to back down.

Dégel narrowed his eyes at the man, Manigoldo Feliciano. He knew that man knew something, but the challenge in his gaze made it crystal clear that Dégel was not going to glean anything from him. It frustrated him to be interrupted, but even more than that, for the first time in his life he felt bloodlust pushing at the back of his mind. Red was starting to invade the edges of his vision, and it took all of his control gathered over the years to restrain himself from doing something he knew he would regret. Yet what audacity! Who was it that dared to hurt Kardia? Dégel wanted to rip his throat out with his bare hands. The anger within him was swirling like a storm without an outlet. He wanted to direct it at Kardia, and he did, but it was not enough. It was never enough. He wanted to find the wretch and put a bullet through his brain, and a sword between his eyes. That would have made him glad. Dégel imagined himself mauling the vermin in retaliation for what he did to _his_ man, and it made him feel better. Vaguely, he registered that the darker his thoughts sank, the more satisfaction he had, one of a sickly sweet sort, but that his thoughts were morbid and he, too, was going to lose himself in madness. Yet, he neither cared for the thought nor its implications. What would they matter if Kardia had died? Dégel's stomach sank at the notion.

A heavy sigh broke the deafening silence and Dégel's train of thought. Kardia turned away, hiding his face in the shadows away from the flickering candle light.

'You broke my door, bastard.'

Manigoldo seemed stunned at the statement, before he growled threateningly.

'Very well, I'll give you an hour. But don't think for a minute that I will stand for your nonsense!'

With that, he stormed away after throwing Dégel a last unreadable look. Dégel's hardened gaze answered him, and as the man turned away Dégel fancied he saw bruises forming on the side of his head hidden away in the shadow before. The gears turned in his head, and as he whipped back to look at Kardia, the very same realisation caught within the man's eyes devastated him more than he imagined possible. It was merely a fleeting doubt, yet Dégel somehow knew that it was true with every fibre of his being. And his heart plummeted into despair.

'Was it…' His voice was no louder than a whisper, quivering like a canary before the hungry eyes of a cat, hoping against hope that his suspicion was wrong.

Only silence answered him. And yet, from the pained look in his lover's eyes, Dégel understood it all, and the silence was his best answer. He felt as if the ground had been pulled out underneath his feet, and as he staggered back only the bed met him as he fell upon it unfeelingly. With a hand covering his eyes, Dégel exhaled a long sigh that sounded like a sob, which, perhaps it was, yet only Dégel himself knew it for what it was. The world turned dark about him, and he felt like hyperventilating. He gulped in big gasps of air, trying to control his emotions, but perhaps at that point all was in vain. Dégel wanted to shout, but his voice did not come. He wanted to cry, yet tears would not fall from his suddenly too dry eyes. He wanted so very badly to lash out in anger, to hurt someone. He imagined how good it would be to take Kardia with him to a far, far away place, where nothing but darkness could reach them and nothing but quiet awaited them, and he wanted to laugh at his own folly. Everything was spinning too fast while rewinding too slowly at once. There was a headache splitting his head into two, and in his ears he could hear his blood rushing too loudly. Dégel wanted to scream in agony, yet his throat clogged and his mouth would not move. And so it was all Dégel could do to sit there and take it all in, almost as though he was resigned to the situation even as his insides thrashed about in vain for some sort of salvation when none would come. He felt like retching.

'Dégel.' The quiet of Kardia's voice could not break through his suffering to reach him, and neither could the gentle hand on his head. But when the man saw that Dégel would not respond to him, he shook him harder and called his name again and again until he looked at him with dead eyes.

'Dégel,' he repeated, 'pray, do not despair so, for all is not lost. I am still here, am I not? Come, we shall resolve this dilemma. You are the rational one; I need you to make this work.'

'Rational, you say? Then would it not be most rational to tell the police that my brother attempted murder on you, my lover? And watch him die by hanging, and you buried alive, and myself on the pyre until hell fire greets us all?' In the reflection in Kardia's eyes he could see how his glassy eyes and his gaping mouth resembled those of a dead fish, but the thought barely registered. Dégel felt cold all of a sudden. It was a cold that seeped down his spine like a snake slithering into the deepest recess of his mind, numbing him to the world and even the brutality he had uttered without care. For what would he care, he wondered. He was suddenly so tired, so, so tired that all he wanted to do was to lie down and sleep it all away, all the while knowing that he could neither afford that simply solution, nor look at himself again if he chose to run away then. Dégel felt ill.

'Dégel?' The tentative hand on his forehead jolted him back to reality, from which he never knew he was separated. Kardia was looking at him with eyes half worried and half afraid, and in that instant, the world about him dimmed away. Only the eyes of his lovers shone like stars from the darkness enveloping them. Dégel could feel himself being pulled away again, and the only thing grounding him were those eyes. He could see Kardia beginning to panic, but it was all so blurry after the brief instant he was brought back. There was a voice within his head telling him that none of it was his fault, and that he needed to just _release _them all from their suffering; he would be granting them all a mercy, even. It was a voice like honey dripping into his fevered mind, soothing him with sickeningly sweet gentleness. How satisfying, how grand it would be, the voice whispered, to end it all with his own hands. He could then love his brother and his lover properly, it told him. Drink with his brother a last drink, tell him a story, make him feel that his love is not unrequited, before sending him yonder where he would wait for them. Embrace his lover tight and never let go, kiss his forehead and his lips, watch his lover's longing gaze on him till the end as life slowly leaves his broken body. The drone of the voice went on and on into infinity, leaving Dégel shuddering in delight, before white noise cut it all off. Dégel gasped for air again as if he was reaching out for something, but this time, something within him snapped.

With strength he knew not where from, Dégel flung himself away from Kardia. He swayed on the spot as a drunken man, neither knowing where he was or what he was doing.

'Wretches, vermins; the devil confound us all!' He muttered, then, in an increasingly louder voice, 'What miseries! Would that the devil put us all out of our misery! Or, perhaps not the devil, then, perhaps _I _shall put you out of yours, and Unity out of his! House arrest? No, the dungeon would do. Ten years, twenty years, he shall have his love while I rot with mine. Come, come, dear Kardia, beloved Kardia, let this love consume us all! Care not for the common, weak, vulgar, licentious crowd! For what more can they do to us who are already dead on the inside?! Come, plague, re-enact the Black Death all over again! Open the foolish's eyes to how beasts and men alike are broken. The Great Flood too, may come. Let us drown in the sins we sow and reap as descendants of Adam, for how greedily we yearn for things forbidden to us!'

Dégel suddenly stopped his rant, and his eyes flashed, before he collapsed onto the ground before a petrified Kardia. He choked, and then heaved once, twice, before raising his head, and all signs of his insanity were gone. There was something eerily calm about his expression, almost like a lake so still nothing could disturb it, and which therefore bore no life. He stood with his unshakeable grace as though nothing had just happened. His cool gaze caught that of his lover.

'I apologise for this embarrassing show of weakness. As I have said before, I shall not tolerate such behaviour on the part of my brother any longer.'

'Wait! You are unwell; your forehead is burning up. Call your doctor; rest; I can deal with your brother. What do you think you are going to do anyhow? Call the police as you said in your fit? Break from your family? Pray, stop this folly!' As Kardia grabbed his shoulder, his fingers dug into his bones, and Dégel frowned from the pain. He could read the undisguised alarm in his lover's expression and in the way he clawed at his frame, as though wanting to nail Dégel there both physically and emotionally. Dégel tilted his head to the side experimentally, and the grip tightened just that bit more.

'You seem confused. Pray, sit down. If not your doctor, I shall call the doctor in town. He should be near; I know he is. Dear God, what is happening with you?!' The hand on his shoulder moved to push him towards the bed, but Dégel resisted with little difficulty. He could hear the quiver in Kardia's voice. Ah, was he breaking? Dégel never intended to break him, or anyone, for that matter. He was merely going to return home and sort things out with Unity, and then come back for Kardia. Dégel could not quite understand why he was being treated like a wild animal, ready to pounce any minute. Kardia should have known that Dégel would never hurt him despite the urges pushing at the edge of his mind.

'Why the alarm, now? I am well, see?' With a smile that did not reach his eyes, Dégel pulled Kardia into a hug. He carefully wound his arms around the corded neck to avoid the bruises and held onto the mane of hair that reminded him so much of the proud lions. The body within his arms stiffened despite the arms circling his waist, and Dégel chuckled mirthlessly. 'Are you afraid of me now? But be not afraid. Have I ever hurt you? By the Lord I'll rip out my own eyes before I do anything to hurt you. And be not worried on my behalf either, for my head is clearer than ever, here, now, at this instant. I love you. Have I told you this before? Ah, I can't seem to remember; perhaps now my memory too is failing me. Yet that matters not. I will tell myself every morning I wake up from now on, over and over again, that I love a man named Kardia. Kardia likes apple, and black coffee. Kardia also works at a flower stand, he who stands out amongst the flowers. Did you know? Kardia is a hero. Not Achilles, not Hercules, yet a hero nonetheless. If I ever forget that, I will write down again and again until I memorise it all by heart. And I know that this, too, is true, that _I _am the eldest son of the Leblanc barony; it is _I _who shall inherit the title and the rights. This time, Kardia, I will protect you.'

Dégel finished with a kiss that tasted so bitter it almost brought tears to his eyes, yet they were too dry to allow any more tears, for he now felt too cold to feel weak. The arms around him tightened, and he thought for a fleeting moment that Kardia would not let go. In the end, though, he did. When Dégel looked up, eyes darker than hell bore into him like they were dissecting him from the inside. It was an unreadable look that branded itself upon his mind, and in that instant suddenly Kardia was too far away from him, it was as though he too had closed himself off. There was an aching in his chest, one which Dégel easily contained, just as he had done his entire life. He turned to the gaping doorway, all the while feeling the stare of the other man on him like something crawling under his skin.

'Do send words on your progress. And see the doctor; you truly are having a fever.'

It was a cold statement intended to be a farewell. Dégel inclined his head before stepping out into the bottomless night without looking back.


	12. Chapter 12: Bonkers

Author's note: Thank you all for still following the story; I would have thought that you would have forgotten me during the long months I went on hiatus. I am so glad that you still find my writing adequate. Thank you, Ale-chan and Aynslesa for your continued support, and the anonymous guest who cheered me on. I told you I would not abandon this story before its completion :D. This chapter took a little longer for me to write, but I hope it can live up to your expectations. I know I suck at timing and plots, but I want to make this good for all of us. Please do forgive me if it takes a little more time to write (which applies to the following chapters as well). Enjoy the chapter.

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**Chapter 12: Bonkers**

'Explain.' Manigoldo's voice was cold, yet the obvious restraint betrayed the anger lying underneath his calm façade. His jaw set and moved, mimicking the twitching of his hands. He stood leaning against the ruined door, a dark expression upon his face. The perpetual mischievous grin was missing, and the rare serious air about him lent an even eerier feeling of terror to the tense silence between them.

'Yes, of course.' In contrast, Kardia was quiet as resignation shone in his eyes. The whole time they were staring at each other, there was something resembling despair about the man in the way he rested his elbows on his knees and the way he slumped forward. And then, in what sounded almost like a sigh, 'Will you at least do me a favour, then?'

'It depends on what you ask. I am not in fact the idiot you may think me, brother.' The cold in his voice persisted even as his eye ticked in a sign of alarm before his brother's strange behaviour. His hands clenched and unclenched unbeknownst even to himself.

'Of course, of course.' It was no more than a whisper that hung delicately onto nothing. The man paused, his eyes no longer on the person before him but glazed over, as though he was staring into something so far away he had forgotten it, lost in a sea of memories, or delusions, or perhaps, wishes. He sat as a statue, letting waves upon lapping waves of moonlight wash over him, gilding his head in silver that shone a soft blue, and for a brief moment, it was beautiful, the man, the room, and the snow.

The man at the door, too, stood as though time had stopped for him. With what seemed like infinite patience, he looked on with detachment and concern all at once. What went through his head, no one knew. He stood for what seemed like hours, with all his signs of unrest gone, vanished like a thin wisp of smoke in the air. Almost without blinking, his eyes trained upon his brother with a keenness resembling shards of broken glass reflecting the light, waiting and waiting like he already knew everything that was about to unfurl and as if it was not he who was seeking answers.

At long last, when the moonlight started to wane, giving way to darkness once more as the North wind roared, Kardia made to move. He seemed almost startled, and when he raised his head, there was a bewildered look in his eyes, as though he was confused upon waking from a long dream. His gaze once again fell upon the man at the door; it focused before a sense of wonderment entered, Kardia humming softly to himself distractedly.

'Where would you like me to start? The brawl? Dégel? Or my plan for the future?' A wry smile stole its way across his countenance, 'But let us start from the beginning; perhaps then it will make more sense to you. Once upon an afternoon, there was a beautiful, beautiful man. Every day, like clockwork, he came to sit at the café across from our flower stand. What possessed him to do as he did I have no idea, but it was so soft, so sad, so pure and so beautiful, that I couldn't resist myself. God knows I tried, but all he did was sit there and my resolve throughout the years crumbled like a castle built upon sand. We talked, we wooed, and we fell in love. Perhaps you are disgusted at the very idea of this folly; well, perhaps I too would have been so had it not happened to me myself. Alas, what is done is done; the command of Fate is absolute – what use is it for us mortals to resist? But I digress. You see, the Leblanc Barony has two sons, Dégel Leblanc, the eldest, and Unity Leblanc, the younger. From what I know it is a close family, especially between the brothers, and the younger is fiercely protective of the elder; that is to say, I made an enemy of myself when associating with Dégel. M. Unity Leblanc is a man of superior intellect, of that I must admit, so our heated exchanges invariably took place without Dégel's knowledge. This state of conflict at last culminated in the incident yesterday; this much he admitted to me this very morning. I was drinking at the bar when a bastard that had a goat for a mother poured bourbon on my head. Naturally we took it outside to settle, when the other rascals appeared from their ambush. As to the rest, I am certain you have known already; you were there after all.'

'That was Unity Leblanc's attempt at murdering you? Is that why you refused to let me inform the police? To preserve the dignity of your lover's family?' Manigoldo appeared to be greatly enraged by the story, 'Well, if that's how it is, I shall challenge him to a duel, the rat! And you, Monsieur, you will cut all ties with the nobles if you know what is good for you!'

There was an odd silence in which they stared at each other, Manigoldo with venom in his gaze whereas Kardia's was still as the water. Perhaps too still for one such as he was. Finally, in a voice much like the calm before the storm, he spoke:

'Pray think before speaking, you fool. Dégel is nothing like his brother. What care do I have for that villain? Will I ever join the barony? Nay, what I am afraid of is not the jealous brother who could but plot and plot more for the rest of his life. Imagine, if you can, how you will live if the world about you suddenly is robbed of colour and sound, and your chest of your very heart. That should provide an accurate enough estimation of how I will live were I to cut all ties with the nobles, as you have so kindly suggested. I know the experience first-hand, those long years spent with dead men who knew nothing but the faith, and I should say that I don't care to repeat it again.' There was a defiant gleam in his eyes, accompanied by a mirthless smirk, 'As to the duel, "the rat" beat you to it, dear brother. He is to have satisfaction from me on the morning of Christmas Eve.'

Manigoldo seemed stunned by the words, before his eyes narrowed into almost malignant slits. Outside, the wind continued its cacophony, and at some point, dark clouds parted for but a brief instant, revealing the jewel-like moon. There was a long shadow casted upon the ground, which grew ever longer into the poignant mist that seemed to have snaked around them in loving embrace. Then, as swiftly as it appeared, moonlight receded again, and the shadow slinked into endless darkness, leaving only a man leaning against a ruined door with a devastated expression upon his countenance.

'And you are determined to give him it, I suppose?'

'Yes.'

'All this without M.Dégel Leblanc's knowledge.'

'Yes.'

The man seemed to stagger from his stand. He lifted a hand to cover his face, and peals of dark chuckles rang like bells. 'I see what you mean by Unity Leblanc's being of superior intellect.' He stopped abruptly, and all went still, before he sprang like a striking cobra and a fist crashed into Kardia's face.

The man reeled back on the bed, before he kicked out of reflex, which was blocked easily with practised grace. He sat up, spit blood onto the floor with spite, and half-heartedly swat at his assailant as if he was swatting at an irritating, insignificant bug.

The grin Manigoldo fashioned was pure malice. He growled low in his throat like a feral animal, and with feline grace, went to sit at the foot of the bed before kicking his legs out and onto the chair nearby.

'You are suffering. Desperate, I'd say.'

'And what put the idea into your head, pray tell?' The flat reply hardly stirred the man. If anything, his grin widened until it showed his fang-like canines. Slowly, with deliberate taunt in too-obviously veiled sarcasm, the man revealed his morbid fascination with and talent for sadism, even, or perhaps especially, when it was someone dear at the receiving end.

'You take me for the fool, dear Kardia, and have been doing it ever since we first met. So tell me, who is it that understands you, your grim thoughts hidden deep behind your façade of a common buffoon, and your obstinacy, which rivals that of a charging bull? Pray do not pretend naivety. When do you ever explain yourself to any of us? Do you explain yourself to him, your beloved? I wager you do not. It has always been he who was doing the wooing, is it not? I saw it in his little speech the other day, that you wounded him with withheld reasons.' His tone was casual, but the man's eyes flashed in satisfaction at the nearly unnoticeable flinch that escaped Kardia. 'Why do you explain all this to me, pray tell? Here, let me tell you what I think. You are desperate. You never break a word but for that miserable pull of instinct to confide and obtain help. You are going to let that insufferable scoundrel kill you in the duel because you cannot bear killing someone loved by M. Dégel; that, or be despised by him as you fear. You poor wretch; yes, you are, do not look at me like I am spouting nonsense – you know I speak but the truth. You have thought about this long and hard, have you not? Selfish bastard that you are, I wager you are enlightening me only because you have a favour to ask. Well, speak; have I spoken the truth? What is it that you would have me do?'

There was a pregnant pause during which Kardia simply stared at the other man like an estranged animal. He appeared ready to pounce from the coil in his posture, but after a minute that felt like an eternity, he only wound tighter into himself by pulling a knee to his chest. There was something incredibly dark about him as his murderous intent matched that of Manigoldo. A strand of hair fell from its perch on his shoulder, and he latched onto it, pulling, threading his fingers through it, and then pulling it again. There was great agitation in the gesture, as though he did not know how to broach the subject, and very probably he did not, but even then his face remained impassive but for the hatred burning within his eyes.

'You infuriate me to no end; that's what you do best.' In a tone flatter than when he started, Kardia ground out at last, 'But yes, it was the truth you spoke, one that I never dreamt of discovering or having articulated so well myself. And yes, I need a favour from you, as I have said.' The man faltered, and pulled on his hair some more, before resolutely pushing the stray lock back as his eyes hardened. 'I need you to check in on Dégel and see whether he is well. His outbreak this afternoon greatly alarmed me, yet he would not tell me anything – he acted as though he was fine and it was I who had lost my mind; as you can guess he has never raised his voice before that. I recall he has been tired since this morning, and I suspect this has affected his lucidity. He was behaving… rather peculiarly this evening, to put it politely; it was as though he was entering hysteric fits.'

'You mean he is going mental.' The sneer was downright vicious, and the man laughed at his own words as though they were a great joke appreciated only by him. 'Isn't this capital, the eldest Leblanc in a stroke-induced coma, the middle deranged, and the last a villain? I pray to the Lord that they be struck from this damnable world.'

He laughed some more like a madman – he laughed so hard that there were tears gathering at the corner at his eyes and that at length his laughter turned into something that eerily resembled a beast's howling to the lone moon.

'And what does that make you, I wonder. You resign to be killed by Unity Leblanc and yet you ask me to care for his brother, for whom you shall give your life, knowing all the while that I resent him. You are a cretin, that's what, a wretched fool who is beyond salvation.'

The statement was spoken in jest at first, but the man's voice dropped as he went on, until it was little more than a bizarrely sad sigh at the end. The suddenness of it all made the situation almost surreal, but bathed in flickering candlelight, the man gave the most genuine impression of weariness. It was in the way the lines of his face abruptly drooped into soundless mourning, accentuated by unprecedented sincerity from someone who was stronger than most, and the way his shoulder shook in the tiniest of trembles. His piercing gaze, too, for a moment lost its fierceness as his eyes misted over in a sheen so fine it almost went unnoticed; to all the world the man was shaken, miserable and lost. But as abruptly as it happened, the emotions vanished into the night, killed by a violent full-body shudder. Coldness returned, and once again the man's gaze became unreadable. He drew himself up, and staring straight back at the unwavering Kardia, curled his upper lip into a snarl.

'And I suppose murdering Unity Leblanc before the battle would pit your lover against you, for you shall never hide the truth from him?'

'Indeed, and I'd rather die than hurt him by having me or you kill his brother.'

'Wretched fool, that's what you are. Think you Montague and the noble Capulet!' Spat Manigoldo in cold fury. 'But very well, I shall see to it that Dégel Leblanc is in good health, and if you do die, that he shall not attempt to follow.'

Kardia appeared taken aback at the acquiescence; it was as if he never expected to have his request accepted in the first place. Something akin to suspicion passed within his eyes, but the instant was gone before either could realise it for what it was. He stared at his brother some more in wonderment, inclining his head like he was straining to hear voices no one else could. Outside, the wind had ceased its rampage; the sky opened up and snow the size of fists was pouring down in silent weeping. Not a sound was to be heard, but it was all exceedingly beautiful. Kardia broke the stare to observe the snow, his eyes unseeing and his gait betraying deep thought. Manigoldo, too, turned to watch the spectacular show mother nature deemed fit to bestow upon deserving mortals. The night lit up a pale shade that somehow recalled Kardia's very image of his lover – there was something incredibly pure and sorrowful about the whole thing that one could not resist but to look on in awe and adoration. They gazed on and on, each lost in his own labyrinth of thought, mindless of the cold caressing their chilled skin. Yonder, nigh wistfully, the snow continued its quiet waltz, mindless of the turbulence disturbing the mortal world. And so it went on, and on, till the first sliver of light kissed away darkness at daybreak.

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The next few days flew by in a blur. Dégel sat before his desk and wrote letter upon letter to be delivered. There were people scurrying about the house like ants moving at work; at times there were hushed whisperings; at other there were shouting and the sounds of furniture breaking.

'He's rumoured to be out of town! Some say he's even abroad!'

'I absolutely will not come at your beck and call, you arrogant noble! What, am I your lapdog now?!'

'Young master, if you don't rest then your health will be affected. Pray, do think of the master as well and how much he will worry for your sake.'

'A change in management of the company is most difficult to carry out, yet I shall endeavour it at your request.'

Fragments of conversations and gossip took free flight and buzzed like a hummingbird, but the house shuddered with an anxiety that almost made it alive. Everyone was moving about, and the house itself was rumbling. Yet, before his desk, only the young master sat still, a cloud of terribly dark thoughts circling him like an impregnable cage. His countenance was calm, unmoved like that of a statue; there was something almost serene about his expression that resembled that of a saint, or perhaps an angel, but that seemed to make no sense because in the shadow that whirled about him it made him that much more inhuman in his awful beauty. From dusk to dawn, and dawn to dusk again, the man remained nailed to his seat, hardly taking food and without a wink of sleep for some endless stretch of time.

'Young master, the master's conditions are stable, but he is not waking up.'

'You have acquired two-thirds of the requested enterprises; more than this it is impossible to accomplish.'

'I told you I'm not going to tell you anything till the time is right, idiot! You are going to ruin it all, my effort, and yours, and everyone else's! What part of 'be patient' do you find so difficult to comprehend?!'

'We still could not trace his current whereabouts, young master; it is as if he has disappeared from this world. However, since all of his properties have been locked in, he should not have much by way of present cash.'

Everything seemed to blend into a great mess of nothing, because events happened and time whizzed by without anything making the littlest morsel of sense. There were too loud noises, and lapses of time when he could remember nothing, and everything was blurry and moving too fast in disembodied blobs of colours, dull and too bright all at once. Dégel felt nauseous. He felt like a spirit rejected from its body, floating about observing events from afar, while managing to stay both detached and anxious to the point it hurt. There was a pounding on the side of his skull; sometimes it moved to behind his eyes, but most of the time it was as though there was a chisel chipping away his brain from the inside.

'Your property in York has been prepared, young master. The master is fit for travelling at a slow pace in a well-cushioned carriage. Arrangements have been made for your trip.'

Dégel felt faint. There had been a fever wracking his body ever since that night, which he ignored with an ease he himself found appalling. However, after only one day, the matter had made itself an annoyance that could no longer be turned away from, because he was sweating profusely; the handkerchief he used to wipe his forehead was soaked with sweat. Even more bothersome than that was the fact that for the duration of his work at the desk, Dégel had been suffering from bouts of hot and cold alternatively. He shivered from the cold such that the maid had to fetch him a blanket, which he shrugged off but a moment later when the heat started to torment him again. At times, his mind played tricks on him, and he imagined he heard Kardia's voice drifting back and forth, before a deafening silence blanketed him from head to toe. There would be tingling sensations running along his arms and his legs as well, as though there were thousands of insects trying to dig their way into his skin, yet when he lifted his sleeve, all that greeted his eyes were blue veins crisscrossing translucent skin like a spider web holding him together. At last, when his consciousness was reduced to little more than a vague light bobbing in the middle of nowhere, Dégel fell from his seat. He tried to draw himself upright, yet somehow his arms refused to move. His body was heavy as lead, as were his eyelids. 'Just a little more, please God just a little more,' he begged, but then even his voice failed him. He tried to cling onto rational thoughts like a drowning man to a lifebuoy, but his hands grasped at nothingness, and he fell.

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Dégel was floating in and out of consciousness. There were disembodied noises and images that he could not identify, for they were moving too quickly; it was as though his own time had slowed compared to the rest of the world, and it left him feeling oddly left out. In his delirious state, he still had enough presence of mind to jest silently at the absurdity of the whole situation; how or why it was absurd, he had absolutely no idea, but only that nothing made sense anymore, at least not to him. He vaguely recalled how the light hurt his eyes like someone was trying to gouge them out with a dull spoon, before darkness soon closed in and he was trapped in his own sleep. Did he sleep? Dégel was uncertain; time was a relative concept after all – if it all meant but an instant to him, while on the outside it had been days, well, what of it? It could have stretched for a minute and an eternity at once, for that was how he felt. Perhaps at some point he had smiled a drunken smile at whoever it was that was hovering above his head – the 'whoever' could be an angel or a devil for all he cared, for he cared not who it was, nor did he have the strength to mind anything besides the constant pounding within his brain – and if the smile reflected how far gone he was from the world, well, that was fine too, because he fancied any second now someone would come to take him away from all the madness and everything that was wrong on Earth. Darkness was a regular companion, one that was sweet yet bitter, and even if he could not taste it, the incessant prickling behind his eyelids would be evidence enough of its love for him. Sometimes, he was aware of a pungent stench of what they called perfumed candles; it drove him sick. Dégel wanted to come to a place where there was nothing bothering him or his senses anymore. In all likelihood he may have transported himself there already, because eventually there were trees and the green soothed him like water down a parched throat. Spots of light were dancing something merry on the forest floor, so he followed them, slowly at first, before running to catch a whiff of that joy. When he looked up, through the thick canopy peeked out the sky, and it was so very blue, it was as though he was drowning in them. Dégel flew through the forest; there were songs of birds and insects accompanying him, and everything was behind a veil that would not lift, but all was fine because it smelled like fresh flowers, like sunlight on a white pavement, like a cup of warm coffee, like musk, like fire, like rain, and somehow, like a bright smile on a honeyed afternoon. It was getting brighter, yet it had already stopped hurting when he was unaware. So Dégel made to move towards the light, and as he opened his eyes wide to look, he was happy.

That was how he remained when he woke at long last. It was night already, and though blurry, his eyes could make out the swaying candlelight. Dégel blinked once, twice, before his vision cleared. He was in his room, tucked to the chin in his blankets. He could feel a cool breeze caressing his face, despite the fire burning high in the fireplace. His mind was still foggy with confusion, yet his senses were quick, and with sharp realisation he noticed the still figure sitting at the open window.

'You are awake.' It was a statement. The man turned around, and under the silver moonlight he looked as unreal as the vision Dégel just had of the forest, yet he knew that what was before him was everything that had ever been real in his life. He smiled contentedly.

'You are here.'

'Indeed. I was worried.' The man inclined his head, before moving away from the window. He glided across the room as silently as a feline, before stopping beside the bed. 'You had brain fever, my dear Dégel, and you have been unconscious for a whole day. It is most probable that you have not completely recovered from it.'

'I understand.' Dégel did not understand, for the words flew right by his head, yet he had neither the strength nor will to care, because Kardia was in his room, and his world accordingly narrowed down to that one man standing before him like a god in the Greek myths. He lifted a hand to touch him, wondering whether he was indeed still dreaming, but his fingers felt coarse fabric that chaffed against his skin, and the scent of summer that he had dreamt of carried over, and there was warmth lingering at the tips of his fingers, and so Dégel knew that his reality was contained in that man. It was a sort of awkward moment between them, for neither said a word. For Dégel, it was more out of terror that should he remove his hand his reality would shatter into a nightmare he was unwilling to go back to, but Kardia did not need to know that, so he casually hid his fright away from his expression. His hand was on Kardia's, now, and there was a steady thumping of his pulse. Dégel wanted to comment on how safe it felt to just hear Kardia's heartbeat, but he thought better of it and kept his mouth close, because what could reasonably be said between them, now, after all that had transpired? He could recall very little of the night he had left Kardia in a hurry, or everything that he had done the following days. It was as though all that suffering had been a lifetime ago, and if he could continue to be happy like this, here, now, with his hand on Kardia's, then he was willing to forget it all. Dégel thought a little more, his eyes never leaving those of his lover, and eventually he wanted to laugh. He would have been an imbecile to forget what had been attempted on Kardia, and from whom it came. In the end, it was almost exhilarating how tragic it all was, and since he could not cry, Dégel could but find it sickeningly hilarious.

'Pray, look not at me like that; I am here; I am real. You are not hallucinating.' With a flick of his wrist, Kardia's impossibly big hand had wrapped around his withdrawing fingers. The heat radiating from his skin threatened to burn Dégel into a crisp, because how could the human warmth be so scorching? Dégel trembled at the suddenness of it all.

'And yet I fear it so. I have failed to distinguish reality from a fragment of fiction my mind concocted in the throes of despair and anguish before; see, my dreams were truer than truth, and I fear that I am dreaming still.' He attempted to draw up a corner of his mouth, but his facial muscles refused to move, and in the end he guessed his cold mask had become him even when all he wanted was to smile. Yet it mattered not now, for he was warm again, and what could matter more than the fire that blazed through all the haze caging his thoughts. 'I was half afraid of the prospect of waking up, were this a dream, for this now, what we have, what we are, where we are, is my reality, and everything else a dreaded nightmare. I don't want to return to that nightmare; I detest it there. Yet at the same time, were this a dream, I would have to wake myself up – otherwise I'd have to stay awake now that I'm no longer dreaming. I have plans, Kardia, and when they are carried out, all will be well again, I promise.'

Dégel carefully observed Kardia's deliberate lack of reaction, because there was none discernible from his countenance. The man merely paused, tightened his grip on his fingers, and then slid onto the bed in a fluid movement as if he had had a lifetime to acquaint himself with Dégel's delirious rambling. Perhaps he, too, was going mad. Dégel was uncertain, for Kardia's eyes were still shining with that quiet wisdom that was too close to insanity for his comfort, and which bore into Dégel as though the man already knew what it was he was plotting. Perhaps he did.

'And, pray tell, what are these plans?' The neutral tone in which it was phrased made it more of a statement than a question, maybe a warning against follies he knew Dégel would throw himself headlong into for his sake.

'We elope. I keep my family, and we bring my father with us; that way, no one can talk.'

'And what of my family? The old man, Manigoldo, my sister?'

'That is why I shall disclose no detail to you. I will kidnap you from them if I have to, because you probably will refuse me this request. Or, I could steal them away with us, too, if you do not wish to part from them; I know you love your family, and I will not deny you this. I will make sure Unity neither has the physical nor financial ability to hurt any of us anymore. England is the sleeping hermit of Europe; we shall be left to our own devices there.'

'You are insane.' The utterance was soft, gentle, and certain, it was like a doctor's diagnosis for a bona fide idiot. The man lifted a hand to hold his face, and Dégel leaned into the sure touch like an addict. 'Bonkers.'

'I am.' He confirmed with the peace that had been absent for so long he had nearly forgotten what it was like. 'I am insane, and psychotic, wicked, even. Yet if that is the price to pay for your being here with me, I would have gladly paid it all over again. You know it.'

'But I am not glad, Dégel. What is with this sentimentality? It is as though you have been possessed.' The hand on his face tightened just that bit, but Dégel did not mind it now. It did not even hurt. He would have even been willing to get hurt if it meant that Kardia would be brought to his side by either love or charity; it made no difference to him, for he was going to bind Kardia to him for life notwithstanding what anyone might think. It was selfish, but the very notion of selfishness had abandoned Dégel some time ago, which could very well have been another lifetime, along with what was left of faith or hope. Dégel _wanted_ to fall.

'Then I am possessed.'

The nonchalance with which he had replied almost frightened Dégel himself. He felt removed from and indifferent to his very own being, yet it made him oddly happy at the same time. Perhaps there was a sense of well-being that had been missing ever since Unity had taken it upon himself to act, and now that he had clawed it back, the morbid manner in which he appreciated it no longer bothered him. He had his great fall, and his desire satisfied. The silence between them was a matter of course, Dégel mused, for Kardia had no way to comprehend his thoughts or his plans. He knew that the man would not, he who was naively straightforward and good-willed to the point of self-deprecation. Nor did Dégel need him to understand; so long as Kardia was willing to trust him, Dégel would stand against the world for them both.

The silence lasted just a little longer, before eventually splintering away with a weary sigh. Kardia dropped himself against the headboard with as much grace as a defeated soldier even as his eyes remained unwavering, and Dégel realised it should have unsettled him, yet it did not. Later on, when he would return to ponder the issue in great distress, he still could not fathom why he had allowed the strange signs to evade him. He would berate himself over and over again for not taking account of enough contingencies, but it would have been too late then, and he would have regretted it, blaming it on the remnants of the brain fever that had ailed him. Now, though, Dégel managed to retain his blissful oblivion without so much as a hitch, and it was thus that he was even happier as Kardia scooted up to sit alongside him, their legs touching and their shoulders pressing together. It was perfect, truly, or if it were not, then still he would not change a thing for the world, because Kardia was right there, and everything was bound to be right and beautiful.

'You are not going to tell me when you shall kidnap me.'

'No, for you would have avoided me.'

'Is it tomorrow? Or the day after, or the day after that?'

'Perhaps, perhaps not.' A lopsided smile not unlike that which Kardia usually fashioned crept upon his lips, and Dégel felt triumphant, like he had conquered the greatest hero there ever was and more. Playfully, he turned to plant a feather-light kiss upon his lover's jaw, before leaning in deeper for a kiss on the lips. It was languorous, and slow, and chaste, as though he had all the time in the world to himself. Dégel liked it, how he could taste the sun and bask in its warmth while locking everything else away. The simple gesture made him happier than all the kings in the world; there was a certain light-headedness that kept invading his mind, blurring away his vision until all that he could sense was the man underneath him. It was a study in love. Dégel rolled the words on the tip of his tongue without giving them voice, and purred like a cat in contentment no man had contained.

'Are you seducing me?' Dégel heard the smile rather than saw it in Kardia's tone and immediately knew that he had won the battle. There was a hand holding the back of his head in place, kneading through his hair and pressing against spots that used to hurt so much it sent him into unconsciousness; now, though, Kardia's fingers were lulling him into a satisfaction that seeped into his bones, rendering him mellow and pliant under his touch. If only there were a dish of cream, Dégel thought bemusedly. Maybe he truly had been a cat some time in his previous life, or lives. But somehow his thoughts were deserting him. He was overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and as he slid bonelessly back to his lover's side, head on his shoulder, all he wanted to do was sleep. It was all so abrupt that he should have realised there was something wrong. There were many things that he should have realised that night, Dégel later thought, but since he did not, could not do the impossible, he regretted it dearly. Right then, though, callused fingers were still massaging his scalp, trailing ever so slowly downward towards the nape of his neck where fine hairs were raising in anticipation despite himself, and Dégel was just too tired. He blinked a few times, but Kardia was still smiling, something akin to pain flitting across his gaze, and then there was the scent of that one forest bathed in sunlight again, one that used to drown him in a sea of bliss. No, I do not want to go back to that nightmare, he screamed through the haze that his mind had been put through again, yet that touch on his head remained so good, the pressure just so right, that his whole body rebelled against him. Warmth blanketed him as Kardia rolled onto his side so that his other hand could pull Dégel against himself. Yes, it was so very good, Dégel's heart spoke for him, and for once his mind agreed. The last fragment of his consciousness that told him anywhere without Kardia was a nightmare was finally snuffed out when a tender kiss was laid upon his temple. Then there was a clamp on the back of his neck, and it stung for the briefest of moments, before everything shut away into darkness once more.

It was Kardia's victory.


	13. Chapter 13: Farewell

Author's note: Hi all, I'm back for another chapter. Thank you everyone for reading and following this story. Star honey, thanks so much for reviewing! I'm very glad you're still doing well – really, how have you been? It's been such a long time! Special thanks to Aynslesa and Ale-chan, who have been supporting me through all these times; you two have been a great encouragement for me to continue this story. I'll say it again that I won't abandon this story; it will end in another 2 chapters. Yes, we are near the end. I had to go and read the whole story again from the beginning before starting on this chapter, and suddenly it hit me that, hey, it started out as a light-hearted, fluffy piece, right; so why on earth did it become the manual for suicide it is now?! I mean, after I finished writing the chapter, I even thought of naming it 'How to go mad in 7 days', but then that'd just be in bad taste. Well, anyway, it's been a lot of fun writing this story, that is for sure. Please be warned that THERE ARE MATURE CONTENTS IN THIS CHAPTER (although they suck because I just can't write sex). Enjoy.

The Latin phrase used in this chapter came from Psalm 4:8. Any mentions of Christianity do not necessarily reflect my personal views.

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**Chapter 13: Farewell**

Dégel was woken by a light knock on his door. As he opened his eyes, morning light streamed from the opened windows, temporarily blinding him from its brightness. He shook his head, feeling as though something incredibly heavy had been lifted from his mind.

A maid entered the room with a tray of breakfast. She watched him with wary eyes, and despite her effort at appearing calm, Dégel could see the way the tray shook as she approached his bed, as though she was approaching an untamed animal. He could not help but laugh silently at that. Perhaps she was right. He was undone. Yet in spite of his expectations, the thought did not dampen his mood. On the contrary, he could feel his spirit lifting; it was a most liberating feeling, he had to admit to himself. Perhaps he had been freed from morality's iron constraint by the very brain fever that had brought the onset of his mental breakdown. Dégel pondered the thought, before dismissing it as un-noteworthy. For what did it matter what it was he had been liberated from – for all Dégel cared he may have very well been rescued from the chains of his very sanity, for who could be more free than the madman?

'Young master, sir, you have an appointment with Signore Manigoldo Feliciano today. He is currently waiting for you in the red drawing room.'

The maid's voice brought him out of his trance, and the quiver in it put Dégel in an even better mood. He made it known with a smile. At the sight, the girl took an involuntary step back, a look of utter terror upon her countenance. With her legs shaking beneath her voluminous dress, it was as though she wanted desperately to run away, yet was nailed to spot by an invisible force, he noted. The thought pleased Dégel.

'Leave the tray on the small table, and you have permission to leave.' His voice was cold, but that was merely Dégel being himself. He saw no cause to be alarmed over his behaviour. The maid, on the other hand, did not appear to agree, for she obeyed faster than he would have thought possible and scurried out of the room as a mouse from a cat's sight. Her actions amused Dégel, yet at the same time left a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. Somewhere deep inside, he knew it hurt, but could not bring himself to care about the degeneration within his very psyche.

Dégel brushed the trivial feeling aside. He had more important things to consider, such as the confidential information in Dégel's utmost interest Manigoldo Feliciano had promised him. The man had been behaving in a most bewildering manner, he mused. Never could he have imagined such a man to schedule appointments with Dégel on his own initiative, using promises of seemingly illusory information to tempt him into acquiescence. He held no illusion about this man's opinion of him; Signore Feliciano was a man who was unafraid to make his dislikes very well known and Dégel had been an eye-witness to the man's brutal candour. However, over and above how bemused he was by the man's behaviour, Dégel was even more taken aback by his own reaction to the man's words. A normal Dégel never would have responded to such vague guarantees from a character he neither knew nor trusted, yet he found himself hanging onto each syllable from the man's lips as though they would somehow determine his fate; it was a ridiculous notion, Dégel knew, and still he had been agreeing without thinking each time Manigoldo sought a meeting. The man had a strange sense of humour that Dégel certainly refused to approve of, yet this time there was something different about his jests; they were dark and deliberately tailored to wound, as though showing Dégel just how much he was resented and at the same time hinting at something that Dégel wished he understood. In his serious air, disputing Manigoldo Feliciano appeared a far-removed option. Perhaps that was how he had advanced in the ranks of the military, Dégel noted. On the other hand, this time, even his painfully honed instincts were urging him to listen to every word the man had to say. His instincts were telling him his very life depended on that man's words, and that, Dégel could not bring himself to accept. Then again, there had been a sense of imminent danger plaguing him despite the brief respite he had the previous night in Kardia's presence. It weighed upon his chest, making it so very difficult to breathe, and though it had become a perpetual condition for Dégel in the past week, he could never become accustomed to the feeling of being damned. At the same time, Dégel welcomed the feeling. He was starting to understand how Kardia must have been feeling all the time, and he wanted more pain; if not in joy, they would share in suffering. Dégel almost laughed at the morbid thought. It was not as though he could change his condition, anyhow, for the only thing Dégel could do now was to endure through the pain till the day he could have Kardia with him again, alive and well. He had vowed that that day would come very soon, when he would abduct the man from this world that seemed so determined to stand against them both.

When he eventually turned to his breakfast, Dégel had already lost what little appetite he had, so he merely took his coffee before dressing to meet Manigoldo again. The servant he had assigned to follow the other man should have reported back, and still he had not heard from him in the last several days. Perhaps it was time Dégel himself procured the information directly from the man after the draining mind games they had been playing. Besides, he thought with pleasure, the sooner he resolved this issue with the other man, the sooner he could take Kardia and leave for good. The mere indication of being able to at last be with Kardia brought a smile to his lips, and his feet became that much lighter. Dégel went down to confront Manigoldo Feliciano in a significantly better mood than when he woke up.

The first thing that greeted his eyes as he opened the oak door to the drawing room was the unconscious man lying in the middle of the room, bloody and beaten. It was the very servant Dégel had sent to tail Manigoldo in order to obtain information, only with much less dignity than he had sent him away with. It was an abortive attempt, he knew, yet Manigoldo Feliciano never failed to surprise him with his ingenious ways. With a raised eyebrow, Dégel turned to look at the man sitting on his desk before the bay window.

'Well?'

Manigoldo was acting as though he could not be bothered to pay attention. He leaned on one arm, reclining with a leg propped on the table, mindless of his boot on the clean wood. He appeared to be following something far away on the outside; perhaps it was the wings of a bird, or a lone cloud drifting by – no one but the man himself would know what he was watching so intently in that moment. There was a contemplative look upon his countenance that made his dark eyes darker, and with the corners of his mouth pulled down into a deep frown, the man was the perfect study in pondering. The sky was bright today, Dégel noted, and the way brilliant light washed over that man somehow reminded him of Kardia. They shared the same looks, the same contemplation, the same fierceness that almost blazed crimson in the white – or was it the light that paled before them both? The thought pulled at a string in his heart. Dégel's chuckle at the absurdity of the comparison came out as a puff of air, light as the brush of a rose petal, yet it was what finally caught the attention of the man on his desk.

'Good day to you too, _Monsieur_.' The mock came, as expected of the man, and Dégel chuckled again. Perhaps he also should have expected that his servant would be discovered; that would have done him good in the future, he mused.

'My deepest apologies. I could think of no other way to learn what it is that you have to say to me, such that a direct man like yourself would have to keep it secret till the opportunity ripens, as you mentioned.'

'And you would think sending your servant to tail me would obtain you this information?' There was a tinge of insult in Manigoldo's voice. The man was of course justified in his indignation, Dégel thought, yet somehow the knowledge that he had wounded his pride merely by setting a spy on him greatly amused Dégel. He did not notice his smile widening even more until the stretch on his facial muscles became unbearably uncomfortable.

'You seem amused.' The statement was dark. With a precision so sharp it cut through the heavy atmosphere between them as a hot knife through butter, the man jumped down from his perch. He circled the desk, eyes never leaving Dégel's, and when he reached the chair behind it, a growl tore itself from his throat. His knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair, Manigoldo smashed it through the bay window in a magnificent display of rage. Hundreds of shards of glass shot in every direction in a rain of glitter, before the crash resounded like distant thunder on that clear day. Another growl accompanied the echo, and the man swivelled back to Dégel, eyes blazing as the fires of hell and a murderous look upon his countenance. 'You are mad, that's what's wrong with you. Have you lost so much of your reason as to not be able to distinguish between who to be wary of and who not? How base, nobleman, to employ the very method your despicable brother did when he preyed upon the very life of your _lover!_'

The last word was spat out in venom. Yet despite the vehemence and hatred it embodied, Dégel normally would never have responded to such a simplistic show of emotion. Indeed, he had trained his mind exactly because he wished never again to respond to it. This time, though, something was different, because deep within him somewhere, a cord was struck as the very incident he had wished to forget was brought up in naked humiliation. It was as though there was an almost audible twang of something snapping within him, before Dégel lunged for the man. There was no time to think, and no time to consider the consequences of his actions. A red veil fell before his eyes, blinding him to everything but smouldering contempt and hatred, until all that Dégel could hear, see, and feel, was a blistering fury that threatened to tear his psyche into shreds.

Their fists collided with their targets almost at the same time, and in that split second before pain registered, Dégel suddenly found himself flung back through the air. He landed on his feet, but there was already the metallic tang of blood in his mouth as his lip split from the punch. The smell made him nauseous, but the pain woke him up to what exactly it was that he was doing. Startled, Dégel focused again on Manigoldo instead of preparing for another strike as he had been doing in that brief pause. The man stood firmly on his spot, unshakable as a god in his temple. The scathing look upon his face gave way to satisfaction as he eyed the blood on Dégel's mouth, before the man, too, met Dégel's with his own defiant gaze again, unfathomable thoughts shining through as though tempting Dégel to attack him again. It was a look Dégel knew too well from Kardia's own expressions, yet this time, there was so much more malevolence in it that he was rendered speechless. It was like Kardia himself was blaming him with that accusing glare.

Dégel's head throbbed from a sudden headache that nearly made him keel over. It was not from the physical injury he received, that much he was certain; yet whence it came from, Dégel knew not. In that instant, it was as though Manigoldo had not hit him with his fist but with a sledgehammer. The pain was crippling; it threatened to rend his head apart and drill into his skull with shrieks that deafened him for a moment. Dégel staggered where he stood, a hand on his head and the other clamped tightly over his mouth to muffle the half-scream that ripped itself from his throat. He could feel his eyes bugging from the pain as the world swayed dangerously about him in blurring masses of colours. His consciousness faded and returned in flickering flashes, before bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. In his darkening vision, he could see the other man taking a tentative step towards himself, and the anger temporarily subdued by his headache abruptly returned with a vengeance.

'Don't you _dare_ come near me, partisan!' His cry resonated through the grating noises in his ears as coming from a place far away. It sounded hoarse and it sounded inhuman, like a howl from a wounded animal afraid of being touched. Dégel ignored it. 'What would you know about our situation? Does your brother, whom you love more than your own life, attempt to murder your lover, whom you would abandon everything for? Does your brother, whom you would kill for, insist that you abandon your lover, whom you would live only for, on pain of losing both of them as well as your own sanity and everything that ever mattered in the world? Well, I thought not, for you have an illustrious brother who shines as the sun and more caring than even family by blood. What right have you got to preach to me about methodologies and such niceties? Have you yourself not been baiting me with news that you would not reveal and play with my nerves, exploiting my weakness in that expert way only a cunning man could? _Par dieux_, if you would not part me this knowledge, pray leave me alone with my thoughts and my suffering! I could have taken him with me presently!'

Words poured from his mouth, and Dégel spoke without knowing he was speaking. Perhaps he had been shouting. He was uncertain of everything now, breaths coming from his mouth in urgent puffs as he panted. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, and still he refused to fall. Rather, he stood tethering on the spot, bloodshot eyes trained on the blurring and reappearing silhouette before him. There was a deep resentment running in his blood, such that he could even feel it crawling underneath his skin, scratching at him until he would release everything, leaving nothing but an emptiness that gouged hungrily into his soul for more to burn. Then, for just a very short moment, his eyes cleared. Dégel raised his head and caught a look from the man before him. It made him want to laugh. And Dégel did laugh. He laughed long and hard, shaking from the absurd hilarity until his whole body hurt and his ears were ringing with his own laughter, until there were tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and what little strength he had left threatened to flee him altogether. Pity. The man was pitying him. Dégel could not quite comprehend what it was about him that was worth the pity of this uncompromising man. Whatever it was, it must have been bad. Somewhere in the back of his head, a sinister voice whispered things about how he probably had known the answer all along and was merely refusing to recognise it like the fool he was, before that, too, was drowned out by the raucous laughter that seemed no longer to be coming from Dégel himself.

'You are wrong.' Dégel paused in his mirth to listen to what the man had to say. 'Perhaps I cannot fully comprehend your situation, Dégel Leblanc, but I, too, have seen what you have not seen, and have tasted – still tasting – suffering you have not suffered.' Manigoldo was grimacing now, before the customary indomitable gleam returned to his eyes. 'So tell me not that I know nothing, wretched fool; you, too, have no right to speak about that which you know not. Then again, I suppose you are justified in your reasoning, considering your circumstances. Soon, very soon, I shall send words. Do not question me again, for our interests coincide in this matter, I can assure you. Surely you can understand this even as you take leave of most of your senses?'

'Take leave of my senses?' Dégel almost scoffed, before another proverbial jerk in his brain brought an involuntary wince to his expression. 'Pray speak not nonsense. When have I taken leave of my senses? Worry not for me, signore, I would rather you direct your sympathy and care towards your brother whom you love. Your concern would best serve placed with the right person.'

Another silence fell between them, during which Dégel straightened, his brows drawn tight together as his vision blanked out from his efforts. Before him was a darkness that stretched into what appeared to be infinity, but his ears, having been temporarily cleared of the white noise, caught the sounds of footsteps approaching him and then passing him in perfected nonchalance. Dégel strained to look, but his back was rigid, and his vision refused to clear. He felt like fainting while still standing to his full height. Before the door clicked shut, Dégel fancied these words were thrown carelessly over a broad shoulder in his general direction: 'If you are interested, monsieur, Kardia shall visit again today. Only remember, I shall soon send words; you must answer then, for both our sakes.'

The mention of the name was the last strike, and Dégel fell sideway with a sigh of relief. Kardia, he thought, Kardia was visiting him today. He cradled his head in his hands as his body twisted in on itself, willing the pain to go away. The crimson walls of the room seemed to resonate with the name, Kardia, Kardia, Kardia, Kardia, until it was all that was echoing within his tired mind. Dégel was exhausted, emotionally and physically; all he wanted to do then was to curl up and sleep until Kardia would come to wake him up. How ludicrous, the lone thought somehow made it through the haze; he would need to be well to greet Kardia. It would not do for him to trouble the man with this triviality when Kardia himself was enduring his own much more serious illness. How unsightly, how pathetic; Dégel knew he would die before he would let that one man see this ugly side of him. Thus resolving, he crawled to his feet with strength borrowed he knew not where from, very much intending on regaining a semblance of composure. Perhaps he should even look for a fitting gift before they leave this land for good – the next day would be Christmas Eve, after all. Dégel was startled as his headache subsided; it indeed would be Christmas. He pursed his lips and stumbled towards the door, the haze fading by the seconds and the chanting of that one name in his ears becoming increasingly louder. Kardia, Kardia, Kardia, Kardia, Kardia… The servant lying on the floor of his drawing room was already forgotten as he pushed past the quivering maid waiting to serve outside the door.

Somehow, after that the day had passed by in an instant. Dégel could not quite recall what he had been doing for the whole day; there was a light-headedness that clouded his senses from everything else. From time to time, he was excited for no reason, his heartbeats speeding and his cheeks flushing a terrible shade of scarlet. Kardia, he would tell himself, before hurrying to complete whatever task that he had been doing. The sporadic spells of elation were the only thing keeping him grounded in those short stretches of consciousness. Dégel suspected they were also the only thing keeping his headache at bay and his strength from deserting him altogether; not that there was much left in the first place. Other times, though, brief flashes of worried faces appeared and disappeared before his eyes, before he took a walk that lifted him away from the material world, or at least it felt genuinely as though he had visited upon a different dimension. Beside the absolute blank that his mind drew up as he attempted to remember what he had been doing, the lights, sounds, and smells were foreign to him; they were all oddly wavering and vague in the same way he conceived nothingness.

One moment, he was surrounded by a paradise-like scenery in which everything was white and faded behind a veil, and it was quiet and peaceful as nothing he had felt recently. Dégel blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the scenery had vanished into thin smoke. He was pleasantly surprised to find, standing before him, tall and dark and glowing in the late afternoon sun, was none other than his Kardia. Immediately, his senses returned in a rush so violent it was almost a physical blow, and everything that had paused in time suddenly became animated the instant life flowed back into them as though there had never been any interruption. Dégel realised that he was somehow outside, and the sky had turned from clear blue to a blend of crimson and orange. Behind him were the woods where his childhood memories lay, whereas in front of him only the plain covered under glistening snow stretched towards the horizon. In the distance, he could hear the callings of migrating geese, and before him the crunches of boots on snow freshened the chilly winter air even more into something crisp and tangible he could nearly taste.

Dégel reached out a tentative hand, and his fingertips touched icy skin, more real than anything that had transpired that day. He drew his hand back for a second, hesitant, before flinging himself against the other man, all caution forgotten in favour of the search for missing comfort and completion.

'Dégel.'

His own name was breathed in his ear like life injected again into his blood. There were arms around him, crushing him against that familiar body he knew better than his own, and Dégel, in turn, tightened his hold on the man with all the strength he had. Hands burying into the thick mane of hair, Dégel could feel Kardia's warmth seeping through the layers of clothes, through his skin and flesh and bones, into his very marrow, his core, and suddenly heat pricked at his eyes, irrational and absolutely understandable in the same heartbeat.

'Kardia.' He almost sobbed into the mane of hair. Dégel relaxed in the embrace, and knew he was finally complete. Chapped lips moved over his ear, murmuring sweet nothings in tandem with the hand rubbing comforting circles on his back, and Dégel smiled, letting the tight embrace warm him up and chase away the phantoms of his thoughts. Kardia. His Kardia.

They stood swaying on the spot to a melody-less waltz, and Dégel was reminded of that pale autumn morning all over again, when easy affection smoothed into an eternity of longing at last. It was a forever that was too short, but it was enough, because far from that chaste morning when their feelings were still a bashful sort of denial, they were unafraid here, now, as their twin bodies parted that hair's breadth for their lips to meet. They kissed, and parted, and came together again, and again, until they lost count of the number of kisses they had exchanged. It was another sort of dance, one sweet and languid as though they had all the time in the world. And they did, because no one would bother them on this edge of the earth, Dégel thought, before leaning in again. A kiss was a conversation, and their dialogues could continue till the end of time before they would run out of things to say to each other. A peck on the lips was a simple 'I miss you'. Hesitant parting was an aching 'Don't leave, stay if only for another minute'. Lips moving over each other, slotting together as they belonged together, was a sensual 'Never let go; you belong with me'. Mouth opening just that slightest inch, allowing a tongue to snake inside, was an invitation 'Take more, take everything, and give me your everything in this kiss'. A stroke over teeth and cheeks before entwining with another tongue in that bewitching exchange of flavours, was a passionate 'My heart, my love, my life, my soul'. Dégel moaned into the kiss, the sound rumbling between their bodies. His heart, his love, his life, his soul.

When they parted at last, Kardia pulled back a little more to touch his forehead to Dégel's, fingers lacing behind his back to cage him between his arms. Dark eyes peered into his, and Dégel blushed a brilliant shade like that faraway day when they first talked.

'What happened to your face?' Kardia finally asked, eyes briefly moving to rest on the corner of Dégel's mouth where a bruise was forming. 'Did it hurt when we kissed?'

'A minor scuffle; nothing you need to be concerned over. Besides, think you this little inconvenience could keep me from kissing you, my dear?' Dégel smiled a smile that reached his eyes, before lacing his fingers behind Kardia's back in a similar gesture. 'I could ask the same question of you, though. Were you involved in another fight?'

'Oh, this?' Kardia nuzzled his own bruised cheek against Dégel's, before chuckling. 'I had a friendly discussion with that mongrel Manigoldo, that's all. You could say it's a tradition between us.'

Dégel frowned at the mention of the name. He did not want to be reminded of the unpleasant things associated with the other man, not after the long day he had had, and especially now that Kardia was with him.

'Come, do not frown, 'tis too lovely a day for that. Why are you out here? Your skin feels as ice.' Kardia chuckled again, gentle and warm, eyes never leaving his. He pulled Dégel close again, before lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. 'See? You are freezing.'

The gesture calmed Dégel from his never-ending pondering as he leaned into the hand with a sigh. Kardia's hand was warm, and on his skin, it burned like fire. It made him feel alive. Behind Kardia, the setting sun cast a halo upon his dark head, such that the man shone as a saint before him, his hair gilt golden and his figure larger than life. Dégel sighed again. A saint who brought life to his dead world. How very fitting. He kept his silence to watch the scene unfolding before his eyes, afraid even to miss something should he blink. His gaze trailed from the glowing crown of hair to the trace of concern in those bright eyes, to his nose, his cheekbones, his mouth, his jaw line, down to the curls framing his face in an unruly curtain, to broad shoulders and finally the arm around him. Everything about the man was holy, and no priest or monk in the world could convince Dégel otherwise, of that he was certain. Slowly, he looked up to lock gaze with Kardia again, before carefully turning to whisper a prayer into the palm holding his face. '_…__singulariter in spe constituisti me._' The wind took the words to carry them far, far away, so that no soul would know of what transpired in his mind in that instant. It was just another secret he had entrusted to the wind.

'What is it?' Kardia's voice was soft as he leant his forehead against Dégel's again, as if afraid to break the moment. His thumb lazily traced circles over the chill of his cheekbone, which quickly heated up under the ministration until warmth spread to the whole of his being. There was tenderness underlying each of Kardia's actions, and if he could, Dégel would have melted under such care until nothing was left of him but happiness.

'Nothing,' Dégel leant forward, letting the man taste the smile on his lips. 'It was nothing at all. Will you stay for dinner?'

For a split second, almost inconspicuously, something dark passed through the gentle glow in his eyes, before the hand holding his face pulled him just that tad closer for another kiss, the merest pressure between their lips. The 'yes' was breathed onto his mouth, and Dégel fancied his heart leapt in joy within his chest. The fleeting strangeness he had just witnessed in his lover was pushed to the back of his mind as he grasped onto the hand holding his face and pulled Kardia towards the mansion. He had time, so for now he would simply be happy in the man's presence.

Their dinner that evening passed in a surprisingly ordinary manner. They talked about the little things that did not matter but which at the same time meant the world, just as they had done in those long months of silent courtship at their white washed café. Kardia told him about that time when his younger sister had tried to run away from the orphanage, about the places that his Father and brothers had been to, faraway places with perpetual thunderstorms or the emerald sea or the snow-peaked blue mountains, about the bar fights full of laughter he had had when he was younger, about the grieving marble statues and the great halls of Vatican, and a thousand other things that Dégel never knew but cherished nonetheless. Dégel, for his part, settled for listening to the man's words and occasionally chimed in with his opinion, a sense of tenderness running beneath his consciousness to soothe all the pain and suffering away as cool water on a burn. His headaches long forgotten, Dégel watched Kardia making grand gestures with his hands as he spoke of the magnificent Sunday masses at the _Basilica di San Pietro_, silently wondering since when had he forgotten the way Kardia always spoke when he was excited. His eyes lit up now, as they did then, and a healthy shade of colour would creep onto his tan cheeks, adding to his boyish charms when his speech was interrupted by peals of exhilarating chortles. The man was more alive than anything he had ever seen, unafraid to show his passion and earnest in every one of his endeavours. The sight of a happy Kardia immersed in his talk was an endearing one, which Dégel never realised he had missed until then; he vowed to himself to savour it, this time, and the next, and the next, until the end of the forever they would have at each other's side. At some point, the conversation died down a little as they ate, but the silence was comfortable as they basked in each other's presence, appreciating the simple pleasures of life. Dégel himself would steal little glances at the other man, feeling like those early afternoons at the café all over again, when he had been too shy to even initiate a conversation. Sweet times, those, he thought fondly. It brought a genuine smile to his lips.

'What are you thinking about?' From across the table, Kardia, too, was watching him. There was a smile dancing within his dark eyes as one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other in a lopsided grin. It was Kardia's trademark look, and Dégel remembered that he missed nothing more than the usual mischievous air on his lover. It was one of the things that set him apart from the mediocre crowd, after all. Gentle, fierce, wise, playful, Kardia was a harmony of contraries, and surrounded by the glowing candlelight, the man was more beautiful than any treasure in the world.

'It would be too trite were I to say I was thinking of you, so let us make believe I was lost in those golden afternoons a lifetime ago. They have a soft spot in my heart, you know, the kind people usually reserve for particularly fond memories.'

'That time, eh.' A wistful look entered the mix of emotions, before an eyebrow cocked up in that buoyant manner befitting of the man. 'I certainly can recall it well. It all started with _De l'esprit des lois_, of all things!In hindsight, I must have been desperate for a topic. And you, _Monsieur_, didn't help. You were so quiet that I was almost certain you would have spurned my advances. Well, not that it was unreasonable to expect such a thing, but that dawdling was indeed cowardly on my part. Now that I think about it, I probably should have been ashamed of myself for failing to make small talks with you that day I first saw you again despite what my heart had been imploring me to do. We must have looked like idiots incapable of making meaningful conversations!'

'Ah, always jesting, my dear Kardia. Yet I would beg to differ. Would you have changed anything were we allowed to do it all over again?'

There was a pause during which Kardia put a hand to his chin, appearing to think for a moment, before he caught Dégel in that unshakable gaze of his, conviction palpable in words uttered with something that resembled reverence. 'No, I would not. There has never been any time when I was happier than when I spent those short spells with you every day. You are my motivation to rise each day when I open my eyes; all the kings and all the wise men could never attain the salvation I did just by watching you there from across the table. I truly am blessed.'

The answer struck him as a physical blow, sending shivers of heat through his body, up and down his spine, spreading into every fiber of his soul, before eventually slipping into his core to banish whatever fear he had been harbouring yet was unaware of. It made him unbearably weak, a lump forming at the back of his throat that he had to force down with difficulty, but at the same time it gave him strength, such that he knew he was ready in that moment to face whatever it was that the rest of the world would throw at them, and he would crush it with everything he had. It was their ritual or confessions and promises, to pile layers upon layers of bindings to keep the two of them together, if not in this life, then perhaps the next, and the next. Dégel could have sworn he was swooning in that moment, breath stolen and rational thoughts dimmed by blinding elation, and it seemed silly because after all the things that they had confessed to and promised, why this insignificant admission, here, now? Then again, perhaps there was no need to know. The feeling was mutual, and in the end, was that not all that mattered?

'I should say the same and much more, but then again, that would be too sentimental for your taste.' His eyes were warm, and the words came easily, naturally, despite the trembling on his insides that refused to die down. 'Will you not come to my room after this?'

His boldness in expressing his wishes was the only thing differentiating this encounter from the mellow previous ones, when the relationship between them was still chaste and thus much sweeter, as the brush of a feather, yet lacking in the ardour only old lovers who had tasted it could master. Right then, it was latter that Dégel wanted, to feel and see and taste the promise Kardia would make over and over again, with his hands and skin and body, instead of merely listening to words that touched his soul but which failed to assure the rest of him that he was, indeed, being deeply and madly loved by that one man. Kardia was passion incarnate, and the only true way to ascertain the man's feeling for himself was through losing control and drowning in each other's body. Dégel knew this, and Kardia knew this. There was no trace of uncertainty in the man's eyes as he nodded his assent, low embers of something that sent fluttering down Dégel's stomach starting to spark to life within his gaze.

They finished their dinner over idle talks, but the sense of expectation and urgency lingered. This was what Kardia had mentioned the other day, Dégel mused, sweet patience and sweeter still torture. It was crawling within his arms and legs, begging to be put to use, and repeatedly denied by sheer force of will alone. Dégel knew this more than most, that the higher the obstacle, the worthier the reward. It was thus that he endured through the evening, bearing the weight of Kardia's stare on him, and in turn he, too, conveyed his repressed longing through the _looks_ that he shot the man's way. The peace had been shattered, and there was no way of retrieving it again, not that night, not until they had obtained what they both so desperately coveted. It was almost a sort of game that they were playing, or maybe a competition in self-restraint. Or maybe not. Self-restraint, they had been practising since the first day they had met without even being aware of it. This, this sharp awareness of pure need and want, pushed the game to a whole new depth, bordering on being painful but not quite.

'This… thing, we have been doing, seems quite masochistic.' Kardia took the words from his mouth in his usual mercilessly direct way. In wry amusement, Dégel merely blinked slowly in response, unwilling to admit that he, too, was entertaining the very thought Kardia voiced. 'And utterly useless, may I add. Come, now, we are neither monks, nor do we practice asceticism. What need do we have of this farce that we both know only serves to torture us for no good cause, a senseless self-imposed punishment not unlike that of the infamous Tantalus? Come, I am finished with this dinner.'

It was more of an order than an invitation, which Dégel gladly obliged. He stood from the table to lead the way to his room, distinctly aware of the gaze burning into the back of his head only one man had ever been capable of. Want me, yearn for my touch, look only at me, Dégel thought with satisfaction as he pushed the heavy door open. No sooner had they entered the room was Dégel pushed against the door. Movements filled with haste, Kardia kissed him as if his life depended on it, desperate and rough like how Dégel himself was feeling. His arms on both sides trapping Dégel in between, Kardia was a possessive man, indeed, Dégel noted, but the thought, too, was quickly banished when his body was crushed against the hard surface and the kiss deepened to the point when he could not breathe freely. There were hands, he could not remember whose, frantically removing his coat, and then there were hands on his body, trailing patterns over his skin that tingled like a thousand needle pricks. Pleasure, absolute pleasure overwhelmed him, such that Dégel fancied he was feeling pain even as he grinded against his lover's body. His legs were failing for lack of air, but he kept clinging to the man depriving him of it like a foolish addict his drug. The tongue in his mouth swept that broad stroke again, so Dégel could but whimper before biting down hard, tasting blood and that distinct heady scent of ecstasy in a stark contrast against the smooth brightness that was Kardia. The action made Kardia growl.

'Bed.'

It was a simple command, and Dégel was pulled to his feet, his hand taken in a grip that would not let go. He looked at their joint hands, dazed for a moment, before laughing in exuberance as he followed suit. He would follow Kardia to the end of the earth, if he would not let go of Dégel's hand.

They moved as though they did not have the whole night before them for their enjoyment, patience long forgotten or simply discarded as futile in the smouldering heat. Slick bodies slid over each other, mouths covering every inch of skin in a rediscovery of claimed territory, and the desolation of the room was filled to the brim with soft pants and other sounds of pleasure. The urge to become even closer, to join, to merge, was a raw force of nature neither could resist, nor did they wish to resist. And so Kardia placed a lean thigh on his shoulder, a predatory smile on his lips, and trailed a wet line with his tongue before biting down and sucked on the sensitive skin near Dégel's groin, relishing in the violent shudders that resulted.

'Ow.' For a split second, it hurt, before the sensation ran straight to his lower stomach in a burn so delicious Dégel could not help but blush even brighter. He chanced a glance down only to see Kardia licking and kissing at the wound, as if to make it better, yet at the same time completely unapologetic, if the satisfied gleam in his dark eyes was any indication. 'Are you trying to mark me? That _will_ bruise for a long while.'

'And if I am?' The smirk directed his way was full of challenge as the man moved up so that he was looming directly over Dégel, his hair spilling down about them in a fall so dark it shielded them from the rest of the world. 'Tell me, what would you do if I was indeed marking my rightful territory, hm?'

'Well,' The opportunity was too good to pass, so Dégel responded with a smirk of his own and reached to pull the man down by his neck, 'I would be very happy.'

The raging lust in Kardia's eyes softened at that, and he obliged without further protest, bending down again in a drawn out kiss overflowing with touches of sweat and blood and the sun. This time, their conversation tasted like 'Rightfully yours for this life and the next' in its glorious revelation of their bare souls. Dégel's free hand was caught against the pillow, fingers held tight against a feverish palm, before they slotted into place against Kardia's own fingers like pieces of a long-lost puzzle. They squeezed, and the emptiness within his grasp was filled at last.

At some point, when Kardia's breathing became too harsh during their love-making, but the man would refuse to slow down or pause like the stubborn person he was, Dégel would stop him by cradling his head against his own heaving chest. He would push his fingers into the mane of hair and stroke until Kardia had calmed himself enough to breathe, ignoring the protests of his own body and the almost unbearable writhing for release in the pit of his stomach. Kardia. His endearing, frustrating, wonderful, beloved Kardia, he would think, vague fears rekindling even as he pressed the man firmly against himself, brooking no argument on the man's part. He would take no risk if it meant this man in his arms could live even a day longer.

'Why not let me on top and move for a while?' He asked not for the first time; 'Why be so obstinate about such a thing?'

A brief laugh vibrating against his chest answered him, before Kardia lifted his head to peer at him with something akin to hurt in his eyes.

'I am not too sure myself; it's a sort of compulsion for me to complete this one act for the both of us. You shouldn't have to move, you know, especially when you feel awkward doing it – I know you do, there is no need to deny. It's hilarious that I can't even accord you this satisfaction you'd easily receive from any partner other than me. Perhaps I should have let you lead from the start?'

The alarm brought about by Kardia's troubled look ebbed away with the words. How very like, and unlike, Kardia to care about the little things even when they could be together as they were, in the perfect manner that they were. There was no man or woman, in this life or the next, whom he would yearn for as he had yearned for this man. The gods should have to envy them, of that Dégel was certain.

'What nonsense you speak, love.' Resuming his petting with one hand, Dégel trailed the other down Kardia's bronzed body, revelling in the feel of muscles and bones beneath his fingers, lower and lower until he reached the intimate space where their twin bodies connected, as they should be. 'If I want to move myself despite being uncomfortable with it, it only means that I value your health that much more than concealing my own weakness. And what use is it to compare yourself with others? I shall get to know no other lover than you, of that you should be certain. What more satisfaction could I gain, when we are already connected as one like this, and could humanly come no closer? It is drawn out; what of it? Your desire, my desire, think you they would lessen just because we take a pause?'

At first, there was surprise in the way Kardia's eyes widened, before the look melted into content. There was also something entirely different from the rest of the mix of emotions on display, one which Dégel later classified as guilt, yet right then he could not for the life of him identify, for his own breath was caught in his throat at the abrupt hitch forward by the slightest of movement on Kardia's part. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, air was forced from his lungs when a spark was lit behind his eyelids and a shudder wracked his body in a new wave of bliss. Unconsciously, he shifted in search of the sensation again, and was rewarded when another jolt shot up his spine, reducing him to a mass of trembling pleasure. Somewhere in his head, though, he must have realised what was happening, and so flexed his muscles in a blatant show of even greater temptation, pleased to hear a hiss against his neck. There were eyes on him again, the smouldering look devouring him in its depth as no other person could manage. A hand ran up the length of his torso in a caress so heated it threatened to reduce Dégel to ash, calluses a perfect contrast with his smooth skin, up and up, to his neck, his face, the rough pad of a thumb tracing his lips, his cheek, the corner of his eye, followed by chapped lips murmuring vows in a forgotten language. The kiss was slow and languorous, all urgency gone, the flavours deepening into unbearable need like aged wine on which they drank themselves into oblivion. With sleek and whole movements, powerful and allowing no room for debate, Kardia laid his forehead against Dégel's, never forgetting to wear that wry smile that brought an ache to his chest.

'Very well, then. Let us savour this encounter to the very last drop. By the time I'm finished with you, my dear Dégel, you will be regretting ever uttering the phrase "drawn out", I promise.'

Dégel had to smile at that. There was nothing better than a willing and playful Kardia, who was also thoroughly bent on delivering him paradise on earth; and if Kardia was not, well, Dégel would have to be the willing and playful one for the both of them – as long as Kardia was with him, all was well. The thought was soon shoved to the back of his mind as Kardia moved again, deep and loving in an unmistakable proof of his undying desire for Dégel, and the night stretched out in euphoria so warm it lingered like a toasty blanket till unconsciousness claimed him.

In the aftermath, as he lay half-awake pressed against his lover, bodies still linked together in the most intimate manner and mouth lazily tracing patterns over golden pectorals, Dégel idly entertained the idea of simply boarding a carriage and eloping with Kardia the very next day. His thoughts were foggy behind a veil of exhausted bliss, subtly aware of the pull of darkness beyond, yet obstinately clinging to the surface for reasons he himself was unaware of. Perhaps a day more would not hurt; Kardia needed to spend Christmas with his family, after all. He would miss the town with its quaint charms, the sun-drenched flower stand, and most of all he would miss the little café where precious memories of his happiest moments lay buried. Unknowingly, even as his mind wandered, his hands started to trail lower again, teasing in their butterfly touches. It was almost as though they had a mind of their own despite the lethargic protests his rational mind proffered, for they danced in that intricate, deliberate taunt against muscles that jumped beneath their touches in response.

'You have a bad habit of provoking me immediately after we are done. Every. Single. Time. At least when you are still conscious.' His hands were finally caught in a firm grip just before they reached their joint hips. 'And presently you're not even fully awake!'

'Yes?' Was his drowsy answer.

Kardia sighed, an affectionate touch to the pretended frustration. His breath tickled Dégel's nose, and in his daze he merely ducked his head to nuzzle against Kardia's chin, unable to stifle the tired chuckle that escaped. His action seemed to greatly entertained Kardia, for his laughter was hearty as puffs of air caressed the top of Dégel's head, sending pleasant tingles to aid to his drowsiness. Eventually, the laughter died down into another fond sigh just as he was starting to drift off. Gently, carefully, Kardia pulled Dégel's hands away from between their bodies to wound them around his own waist, before turning deliberately to squish Dégel against the mattress, making sure to prevent any further impertinence, if still possible, from a very incoherent Dégel.

'Sleep. You need it.'

The command was like a rumbling purr that lulled him further into the land of dreams, and the assuring weight on him was not helping, either. It was too difficult not to surrender to rest, when both his mentality and physical body pled with him just to let himself fall over to the other side, where loving darkness was ready to envelop him in peace. And yet, Dégel resisted. There was still something he must do. Mustering every ounce of strength left in his body, he tightened his hold on his lover before leaning up for a goodnight kiss.

'Stay with me.'

The frightful plea was breathed as a prayer, before his eyes slid shut despite himself. In an instant, everything spun and shook and sank into that beyond, shielding Dégel from the glint of devastating agony in his lover's eyes at the words. There was perhaps also a particular wetness to those dark eyes that saw beyond time and the future, but only their owner would ever know the truth to it. For the moment, a tiny tremor shook his indomitable frame, before the man regained control over himself with what seemed like pure effort of will. He stared at his sleeping lover, jaws moving as he gnashed his teeth in utter restraint. In a heart-wrenchingly careful manner, he bent down for another kiss, fully and tenderly, his brows drawn tight in anguish, lips moving as though to commit every taste, every texture, every contour and imperfection into memory. Perhaps there had also been regret hidden somewhere within the message, along with a thousand confessions of love that the recipient would never know, unconscious as he was. In the end, though, even if everything vanished into thin air, the only thing that remained was a sorrowful longing that would not be erased no matter what.

As the velvety night waned, there was a man lying wide away, clinging to his lover as he would a lifeline and awaiting bleak dawn with farewell thick on his lips.


End file.
